


Stand By Me Part II

by GwynDuLac



Series: Stand By Me [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Genre: Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I forgot how much of a dick I made Bors in part of this story..., Lancelot is Not a Fan of Quests, M/M, Major Character Injury, Promise, Torture, and melodrama, because they deserve some happiness too, but now with some proper sex as well, really not much though, still lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a couple of months after the end of Le Chant d'Armour, Lancelot and Gareth are both very (and improbably) happy. Until, that is, they are dragged off on a quest with Gawain and a mysterious knight clad in green...</p><p>(And yes, the title is unimaginative, but since I'm not sure which portion of the planned plot this part will cover, I didn't want to try to come up with a name that was more subtle)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, few things:
> 
> 1) This chapter starts off from Gareth's point of view rather than Lance's (it changes back toward the end)  
> 2) This chapter is short because I wanted to post something before too long and the next bit is requiring some work (it is smut and I am nervous - also that's why the rating on this part is E)  
> 3) I'm sorry if this starts off slow. It is to set up the story arch of which I have at least 80 more pages in a notebook and plot even beyond that point (I'm working on typing it up, but classes have started so we'll see how that goes...)

I watched him move. That easy, feline grace of his, the subtle power in his elegant legs and the firm set of his shoulders; the billowing red cloak, so regal on the King, intimidating on Lancelot. 

Lancelot. Just his name makes me smile. It is so beautiful, so like him, full of elegance and quiet strength. Lancelot. There is a ring to those syllables, like a warning bell. Lancelot. Said softly, it takes on a gentler sound, an almost delicate sound.  _ Lancelot. _ I love that name. I’ve held it close on dark nights, like a child clutching at a favorite blanket. I allowed myself a small smile. Now I hold the man himself, as improbable as that still seems to me. 

As Lancelot took his place to the King’s right, I allowed my eyes to sweep around the gradually filling Great Hall before returning my gaze to the High Table. In the center sat Arthur and Guin - how strange it is to think of them like that, so familiarly, when not long ago ago I would still have been terribly uncomfortable with the thought. Arthur and Guin. My friends now. Lance was right: Guin teases us mercilessly. To my amusement, it often makes Arthur blush. 

Lancelot, Arthur, and Guinevere: my family. At the table, to Guinevere’s left, was Gawain, my adoptive older brother. After a few incidents when I was a young squire in which I suffered at the hands of my fellows for the crime of not being born noble, Gawain, then the youngest Knight of the Round Table, had begun protecting me. Soon, thanks to his actions and my looks, nearly everyone forgot my lowly birth and assumed that we were brothers. Utterly ridiculous. I very nearly laughed aloud. The whole bloody thing was ridiculous! There they were, the four people I considered my adopted family, the four most powerful people in all of Britain. I shook my head despairingly, but before I could become distracted by that line of thought Gaheris dropped into the seat across from me. He and his brother rather rarely ate at the high table, preferring the company of their fellow Knights. Of course, as Knights of the Round Table, we were all entitled to a place at the head table, but most of us never took advantage of that dubious privilege. We all knew Arthur, Gawain, Lancelot, and Cei were only there because their respective ranks decreed it. 

“What’s on your mind?” Asked Gaheris, before noting the general direction of my gaze. “Oh, I see,” he smirked, “Admiring your lover from afar.”

I choked on my wine and had to be patted heartily on the back by Geraint, who had just joined us. Damn those two, I thought affectionately, they are even smarter than Gawain. Of course, they would have seen by now that things were different between Lan and myself. Oh well. It’s not like they were going to tell. “My God, would you please  _ warn _ a body next time?” I gasped.

Gaheris laughed. “Will there be a next time?”

I shook my head fervently. No. There would never be another case like this. I loved Lancelot, loved him with all of my heart and soul, even if perhaps he didn’t entirely know that yet...

“So, Gareth,” said Geraint, smirking playfully, “You’re in a unique position, living with the coveted and mysterious knight in Camelot.”

“I do not live with him,” I grumbled.

“We'll forgive me for trying to be polite,” he laughed, “How ‘bout this: what’s it like sleeping with him?”

I choked again. I hadn’t expected these two to be quite  _ that _ forward! Still, I collected myself enough to respond with as much dignity as one could hope for, “ _ That _ is none of your damn business.” 

“Well you can’t blame us for being curious!”

I cast Gaheris a Look. He just grinned innocently back at me. It was one of those perfect moments, when all is right with the world and you are at peace. So naturally, that is when everything began to fall apart. 

A silence spread from the main doors outward, sweeping through the Great Hall. I glanced up to see a rather strange sight: a knight in armor, helmet and hall, striding toward the high table. He wore a sweeping cloak of forest green, and a green plume in his helm. In deafening silence, the strange knight approached the King, who rose. Arthur's not inconsiderable height, accentuated by the dais on which he stood, made me realize that the newcomer, whoever he may be, was rather small for a fighting man. But I, of course, thought nothing of that.  _ I  _ am small for a fighting man, as is Gawain, and we are two of Arthur’s most talented warriors. (That is not bragging, it is merely a fact). 

Lancelot shifted in his chair, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword. I turned slightly so that I could see better and belatedly realized that I had done just the same. Without thinking, I had put myself in a position that would allow me to be on my feet, sword drawn, in a heartbeat. Had the situation been less tense, I would have smiled wryly. Lancelot had taught me well.  

“Welcome to Camelot, Sir Knight,” greeted Arthur politely, “I invite you to join us for dinner.” Our guest shook his head once.  _ No _ . I watched our king suppress a sigh. It was gratifying to discover that I knew him well enough to spot such a subtle thing. Arthur continued, “Then is there some way we may be of service?”

In reply, the knight stepped up onto the dais - bringing Lancelot to his feet and prompting me to halfway draw my sword - and dropped a gauntlet on the table in front of Gawain. I rose and opened my mouth to tell the man I considered my brother not to touch the thing. The King fixed the glove with an accusing look that would have had any animate object shrinking away. And Gawain, _damn_ him, simply picked it up as calm as can be, and said, “Well then, I will meet you tomorrow at noon.” He might as well have been commenting on the weather.

*  *  *  *

After the remainder of a very tense dinner, Arthur, Guinevere, Gawain, Lancelot, and I gathered in the King’s study. Once again I marveled at how much things had changed since Lancelot had been hurt in the tournament. With the revelation that I was next-in-line (so to speak) to be King’s Champion, I had been included in this inner circle. Tonight, however, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted to be. Arthur was grumbling, annoyed but well-aware that he had no right to complain since he would have done exactly as Gawain had given half a chance. Lancelot, on the other hand, was royally pissed off. “It’s not your fucking job!” he exclaimed, not for the first time, “Your job is to  _ stay alive _ .”

“Calm down, Lance,” said Guin finally, “Gawain is perfectly capable of taking care of himself-”

“That’s not the  _ point _ .” I was actually a little surprised by how worked up Lancelot was over this. “We don’t know  _ anything _ about who he’s fighting. It’s insanely dangerous, and - and-”

“And what?” encouraged Arthur in an oddly gentle tone, as if he suspected that Lancelot had something very important to say rather than a continuation of his earlier rant. 

My lover shuffled a bit and looked down at his feet, almost sheepishly. I’d never seen him like this and it worried me. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Lancelot mumbled finally. 

“A bad feeling or a Bad Feeling?” asked Arthur and I could  _ hear _ the capital letters. 

Lancelot glanced up and nodded guiltily. Guin bit her lip and Gawain sank into her armchair with a little sigh. Arthur was scowling. I looked around at my four companions, bewildered. “What am I missing?” I asked finally, when it became clear that no one was going to voluntarily enlighten me. 

Arthur and Lancelot exchanged a weighty glance. “Have you told him?” Again, Lance shook his head. 

“Tell me what?” I was beginning to be truly worried. My lover shifted uncomfortably and I went to him. Even if Gawain didn’t already know - which was about as likely as Arthur losing Excalibur - it wasn’t as though he was the sort who would be offended. “Lan?” I murmured, touching his face gently. 

“I...” he began uncertainly, “I sometimes know when something bad is going to happen...I... you see...” Lancelot took a deep breath, then said, “I’m part fae. My grandmother on my father’s side is...she’s called the Morrigan.” My eyebrows shot up. Well that explained a  _ hell  _ of a lot. I said as much and Lancelot smiled a little relief obvious on his face. I wanted to hold him and kiss him and tell him I didn’t give a damn about his blood lines - although there was something oddly attractive about him being related to the goddess of death...-but I decided it should probably wait until later. Pity. 

The others spent some time discussing precautions for the morrow, but I only half listened, preferring instead to assimilate this new information about my lover. It  _ did  _ explain a lot. I didn’t know a lot about fae, but living around Camelot I had picked up enough to know that that much fae blood would account for how deeply Lancelot felt emotion, for his elegance, strength, and good looks, and for the weight he placed on oaths. And his rather frighteningly close relation to the Morrigan of all creatures certainly explained his natural talent at killing. I suppressed a pleasant shudder. It had been years since Lancelot had frightened me, but knowing what I now did, I couldn’t help but think that he  _ did  _ frightening me a little - in a decidedly pleasant way. 

I fidgeted and waited for Gawain to leave. There were some things that I wouldn’t do around my ‘big brother’. For Lancelot’s sake of course. 

Sometime later, Gawain finally took himself off to his own rooms, leaving just the four of us. Guin rose to get wine, and Arthur moved to stoke the fire. I left the hard wooden chair and Lancelot pushed away from the wall where he’d been brooding most of the evening. Smiling a little to myself, I reached out to my lover. 

 

Before I quite knew what was happening, Gareth caught my wrists, pinned me against the wall, and kissed me deeply. Mortified, I tried to pull away, but he was having none of it. I made an annoyed sound of protest in the back of my throat, but it didn’t help. When he finally pulled back and released me, I flushed deep red and stammered incoherently for several long moments before finally managing a not very convincing, “How dare you?”

Gareth laughed at me. “How dare I? What, I’m only allowed to be in charge when we’re alone?”

I gaped and blushed brighter. Damn him...And damn Arthur too, for that matter. He was doubled over in his chair, laughing helplessly. I glared at him, which only made him laugh harder. Oh he was so dead the next time I could corner him.  _ So _ dead.  “Oh don’t tease the poor man, Arthur,” admonished Gwen sweetly. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her calling me that, especially since Arthur -  _ damn _ him - just kept laughing. I didn’t think he was even breathing at this point. Gwen gave him a Look and added, “I’ll tell them what you let me do...”

The effect was quite shocking. Arthur snapped his mouth shut and stopped laughing so abruptly he nearly choked. “You wouldn’t!” he gasped, horrified. Gwen just smirked at him. 

Well then. Apparently I wasn’t the only powerful man in the room who happily surrendered that power to my lover - at least, behind closed doors. Gareth gave me a pointed look, then took my hand and dragged me bodily to the loveseat across from where Arthur was sprawled. Taking the hint, Gwen settled herself on her husband’s lap. Arthur was still blushing faintly. It made me wonder...no, actually, on second thought, I really didn’t want to know. I may have slept with the man, but he was my King and I had to draw a line somewhere - and this was definitely that place.  Guinevere and Gareth were smiling at each other in the most annoying way, as if they enjoyed tormenting us. If  _ this _ is what I had turned sweet little Gareth into, I regretted it. Greatly. Probably. Some small, masochistic part of me wanted to argue with the logical side of my brain.

“Gwen, you wouldn’t actually...,” asked Arthur uncertainty, “Would you?” She just gave him her most innocent look, which was not at all comforting. 

I glanced sideways at Gareth, trying to judge his reaction. He - of course -caught me looking and responded by sliding one arm across my shoulders and pulling me towards him. Hesitantly, I snuggled against his side. Looking at Arthur and Guin and feeling Gareth so close I couldn’t help but smile. They were all so content just then that I swallowed my further protests about having a bad feeling about this business with the green knight and tried to enjoy the evening with them. 


	2. One Perfect Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Gareth spend a very enjoyable evening together, made more passionate by the fact that they both have a bad feeling that this is the calm before the storm....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the 2300 words of un-asked-for smut. Sadly I don't know when the next chapter will be up as this semester is shaping up to be an exercise is keeping my head above water. Whenever I have a chance I'll work on this (because I love these two and I think it is a massively under-appreciated pairing). 
> 
> Also, POV switches again - starts with Lancelot, goes to Gareth, then briefly back to Lance at the end.

 

Gareth and I returned to my room - our room really now, he only kept his in the other wing for appearances - slightly earlier than normal because it had become increasingly clear that Arthur and Guin had activities other than chatting in mind. Well, so did Gareth and I, so that worked out fine. 

We’d been together for close to three months now. Sometimes that felt like no time at all, and sometimes like a lifetime. I still feared that Gareth would someday grow away from me, but for now at least we were almost absurdly happy. The time had also given us both a chance to become eminently familiar with each other’s bodies - not in terms of sparring as we had already been, but in terms of other, more pleasurable pursuits. 

With the door firmly closed and the promise of no intrusions (servants weren’t allowed in the royal suite without explicit permission, and no one else would wander in unannounced especially at this time of night) I set about returning the ‘favor’ Gareth had paid me earlier, catching him by the arms and crowding him up against the wall with my taller frame. He tipped his head up and  _ smirked  _ at me until I kissed the look off his face. 

He sighed and tilted his head just so, giving us the perfect angle for a long, languid kiss as heat rapidly rose between us. Gareth was very good at this particular activity. He parted his lips and let me lick inside his mouth, but pushed back just enough to make it interesting. Gareth also fit in my arms perfectly and made the most delicious noises as our tongues slid together. I growled low in the back of my throat and lifted Gareth easily so he could wrap his legs around my waist. It brought our bodies even closer together and the heat continued to build.  I don’t think I will ever cease to marvel at how much strength Gareth packs into that slight, deceptively delicate-looking body of his. I could feel his lean muscles even through the layers of shirt and doublet that he wore. 

He slid his arms slowly around my back and tried to take control of the kiss, but I wasn’t having any of that tonight. Not yet at least. I moved to the bed and laid Gareth down gently, then crawled over him, working his doublet off as I did. He very obligingly helped me and we paused a moment to divest each other of outer layers and boots. Breeches stayed on for now. No reason hurry our fun. 

I held myself above him easily, though I knew well enough that I wouldn’t - couldn’t - crush him even if I lay fully on top of him. No, I just wanted to enjoy the view - shirtless and mussed and flushed with pleasure Gareth was truly a sight to behold, and I marvelled that by some stroke of (entirely undeserved) good fortune he was  _ all mine _ . I ducked back down for another kiss, but just a quick one, then I slid further down the bed and began working my way up Gareth’s (rather lovely, if I do say so myself) legs with kisses and caresses that I’m sure were only more maddening because I didn’t reach bare skin until his naval. When my mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied I murmured endearments at him - how beautiful he was, how lucky I was to have this with him, how amazing his body was, and other such embarrassing nonsense. I meant every bit of it though, and the midst of sex was generally the only time I could bring myself to voice such sentiments aloud. (Whether or not Gareth could hear any of it I’m not sure - I certainly wasn’t making an effort to make myself heard and he was already fairly far gone). 

Gareth is rather ticklish, and I spent some time tormenting him by mouthing lightly along his ribs, keeping my hands on the sensitive place on his waist so that he squirmed deliciously under me, already whimpering and muttering half-hearted curses at me. The truth was, Gareth enjoyed this immensely, he had told me so, so in spite of him imploring me to “hurry the fuck up already” I continued at my torturously slow pace. I did finally get around to removing his breeches, however, sliding them down his legs bit by bit, lightly dragging my nails over the newly-revealed skin as I did. Gareth nearly kicked me once or twice, but I simply pinned him down more effectively to prevent it and he threw his head back and moaned. (He had admitted to me once how much he enjoyed that I was able to do that - and that he trusted me enough to enjoy me doing it. So I made a point of it as often as possible). 

With his breeches finally discarded on the floor, I worked my way back up his legs again, but this time less torturously slowly, and blew softly on Gareth’s hard cock. He wailed, and I would have been worried about people hearing, but these walls are thick (Arthur and Guin made sure of that for their own sake). I am not as a general rule a big fan of sucking cock, it’s too often used as a means to denigrate, but there is something about doing it for Gareth that I quite enjoy. It might be the noises he makes, or the way he looks down at me like he thinks he’s dreaming, but in any case it is very satisfying.

I didn’t let him come, though. Gareth has a shorter recovery time than I, but I had every intention of drawing this out for a good while longer yet. For one thing, I wanted to fuck him, so with Gareth’s moans and pleas for me to give him “just a bit more” filling the air around us, I fished out little pot of oil out of the night table drawer and set about slicking my fingers. Gareth very obligingly lifted his knees to his chest so I could prepare him - something he enjoyed being on the receiving end of far more than I did. He writhed and told me to hurry up and was generally very bossy about it, which I found highly amusing. I also found it amusing when I crooked my fingers  _ just so _ and his rambling turned into a high-pitched whine. 

“Like that do you?” I asked, humor in my voice.

He started to retort, but I moved my fingers the same way again and whatever he had been about to say changed to a breathless, “Ah God please Lance please.” After a moment’s pause to torment him, I obliged. 

Having sex with Gareth is like nothing else I have done in my life, and I have done quite a lot. We know each other so well, and are so in tune, that adding such an intimate physical connection to all of that makes it feel like we are a single being, one soul barely separated into two linked bodies. It’s so perfect that it almost hurts. 

 

Lance is very good in bed. A little shy at first, and perhaps not as experienced as one would expect given his fame and good looks, but  _ very good in bed _ . Because it isn’t about experience or anything like that, it’s the way he devotes all his attention to the moment. Maybe he is not like that with every lover he has had, but he is certainly like that with me. It would be intimidating, perhaps, to be the very center of his not inconsiderable attention, except that Lance stopped intimidating me some time ago - and in bed at least the center of his attention is a  _ very _ pleasant place to be. 

Also surprising, given his personality, is that Lance is very sweet when we have sex. I’m not sure how much of his murmuring he intends me to hear, but I have good ears and it is an intoxicating litany, especially on nights like this one when there is an air of desperation beneath our otherwise gentle movements. The events at dinner had caused us both stress, and it was reflected in an added intensity in our love-making. 

I relaxed into the feeling of Lance surrounding me and being inside of me and almost wanted to cry at how perfect it was. He held himself over me, wrapped his arms around me, and moved slowly but powerfully. It was intoxicating, especially knowing how deadly that body of his could be when he put his mind to fighting rather than to pleasure. And oh the pleasure. It built and built, a fire right in the core of my body, until I heard myself moan, “Lan, I’m going to-” He hushed me with a kiss and I tipped over the edge like that, breathing his air and completely enveloped in  _ him _ . 

I drifted for a long moment, relishing the feeling, but managed a choked “Don’t come.”

“But-”

“No. I want to…” my brain was still struggling to function through the fog of release so I just gestured randomly. 

Lance groaned but did as I asked and slowly, carefully, separated our bodies. I shivered at the loss of contact and quickly pushed at him to roll over, following his motion so that I was on top. I squirmed down the bed, not caring that I was sticky with my own pleasure, and nuzzled at the crease of Lance’s hip. He threw his head back and moaned. I chuckled lowly and moved back up his body, intent on drawing this out as much as he had. 

I kissed and licked at all the little sensitive places I had learned over the last three months, spending particular time on the spot behind his ear that made him writhe under me. Once I knew he was far enough gone, I started talking (and unlike Lance I made sure he heard me). 

“God you’re gorgeous,” I said as I nibbled at his neck. “I love your body,” I murmured into his chest, kissing down his ribs. “I love how strong you are.”

“I know you do,” he chuckled, the first time he'd spoken since I'd started. I was surprised he was still coherent enough. 

“Oh, I do,” I agreed, then added something I knew he wouldn't like as much, “And I love your scars.” I was at that moment mouthing along the most recent of many scars Lance bore, the one from the tournament that had set our relationship in motion. It was still a little pink and raw and I knew Lance hated it. He worried so much about what I thought of him - his age, the abuse his body had suffered over the years, his sometimes abrasive personality. Little did he know how little I cared about any of that. But I was trying hard to help him realize. As per usual, Lance tensed a little when I mentioned the scars, but just kept going, letting my hands drift lower to distract him.  Lance writhed and moaned a little and I couldn’t suppress a chuckle, still feeling sated and happy from all the time he had spent pleasuring me. 

Finally, I stopped teasing and moved to return the favor. I settled myself between Lance’s thighs, as he had done to me earlier, and nuzzled again at the crease of his hip, but this time I didn’t stall much. My lips closed over Lance’s cock and he moaned again, louder, his hands convulsing where they had moved to tangle in my hair. I liked the feeling. I actually liked doing this nearly as much as Lance liked me doing it. It had taken me a long time (and a great deal of wine) to get him to admit that. It was one of those things that he felt he shouldn’t enjoy, that made him worry about how I saw him - something about my being younger and him being my mentor. Admittedly, that was half of why I liked doing it, the nearly illicit nature of the whole thing. The other half was definitely the  _ noises _ Lance made. 

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked a little harder, pulling a groan and string of filthy curses out of Lance’s mouth. He thrust up slightly and I let him. Sometimes I pinned his hips down and tormented him with my tongue, but he has waited long enough for his release this evening and I didn't mind him being a bit rough. His hands in my hair were oddly soothing even as they pulled slightly, and I hummed, knowing the vibrations would tip him over the edge. It did, and he came with an almost pained cry.

I crawled back up Lance’s body and stretched out on my side beside him. One of the few times Lance was truly relaxed was immediately after sex and I wanted to take advantage of that. I settled my head in my hand and gazed at him contentedly. I had meant everything I said - he was beautiful, utterly gorgeous, and in my eyes completely perfect, scars and all. I reached out and traced one finger lightly over one of the many faint silver lines on his shoulder. There was silver in his hair too and I touched that next, running my hands through the thick black locks beginning to turn slightly at the temples. I loved it. I loved him. Almost so much that it hurt. With a little sigh I laid my head down on Lance’s chest and closed my eyes. “I love you,” I whispered. I felt Lance kiss my head in response, and that was the last thing I knew before sleep claimed me. 

 

I listened as Gareth’s breathing slowed and he fell asleep. The heat of his body seeped into me and I struggled to stay awake for just a few more moments. In spite of the odds that tomorrow would be a tiring day, I wanted to savor this moment, Gareth safe in my embrace and my body loose with pleasure. It was a nearly perfect. I let my eyes drift closed and nuzzled at Gareth’s hair and finally breathed a response to his words: “I love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love : )


	3. The Green Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Gareth wake the next morning to find that Lancelot's Bad Feeling was well-founded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. But it's a little over 5500 words, if that's any consolation...?
> 
> Also, plot! Would you look at that! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Early the next morning, the door to our room - yes it was  _ our  _ room now - opened without so much as a cursory knock. My hand found my dagger beneath the pillows. Beside me, Lancelot sat up abruptly, biting off a curse. “I need you two in the study. Now.” It was Arthur’s voice. I relaxed and stretched. Lancelot, however, wasn’t so calm. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he demanded, already swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for a shirt; he already wore soft breeches. We were soldiers, always ready at a moment’s notice, so we typically slept partly dressed. Unfortunately. 

I sighed, sat up, and ran a hand through my hair in an effort to comb it into some semblance of decency. “What is it, Arthur? Does it have to do with that knight from dinner?” 

“Yes,” he said crisply, “He’s gone. I’ll see you in the study in a minute.” 

Gawain was already there when we arrived. He was pacing agitatedly in front of the desk, just as his uncle often did in times of stress. “Morning, Gawain,” I said conversationally. He glanced over and smiled a bit despite himself. I had - somewhat intentionally - only barely made myself decent before coming. Lancelot was still putting on his sword belt and combing his hair, but I wore only breeches, boots, and shirt. I dropped my cloak, doublet, and other things in a convenient chair and ran my fingers through my hair again, though I knew it was all but hopeless. “Go on, say it,” I encouraged with a playful smile, assuming he wished to tease me a bit. I’d gotten used to it over the past few weeks, living around Guin and Arthur, who both liked to say that I looked like a well-fed cat and accused Lancelot of “all but purring.” I refrained from telling them that I could make him do just that. Some things actually  _ are _ private.

However, that wasn’t what Gawain said at all. He bit his lip and glanced at me. “You were in bed, weren’t you? With...with Lance, I mean.” His tone was somewhere between fascinated and amused. 

I shrugged and said as nonchalantly as I could, “Yes. Do you mind?”

“Oh not at all,” he said quickly, “I think it’s adorable, and good for Lancelot. I just...wanted to make sure.”

I laughed, relieved, and finished dressing. Lancelot entered as I was buckling on my sword, the King on his heels. Taking a place behind his desk, Arthur glanced at the three of us, all still vaguely disheveled, then sighed and began, “A short while ago I was informed by a page sent to our guest’s room with breakfast that he was no longer there. His horse is gone. Gawain already knows this.”

“Good!” Exclaimed Lancelot, practically effort the King had finished speaking, “Now Gawain doesn't need to risk his foolish neck!”

“I will not back out of a duel simply because my opponent is no longer under the same roof as I,” replied Gawain calmly, “I have already spoken to Uncle about allowing me to go in search of this man.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Demanded the Champion, then to Arthur, “You can’t let him go!”

“In fact, I cannot reasonably keep him here,” sighed the King, “All I can do is insist someone goes with him. That is, in fact, what we are here to discuss. Gawain? Presumably you have some preference?”

“Lancelot and Gareth,” said the prince promptly. 

“You would deprive me of them both at the same time?” I could tell by Arthur’s tone that he was only half joking. 

Gawain too must have been able to see this, for he took a deep breath and launched into an explanation of his reasoning. “You need Cei to run the castle and Bedevere is training the squires. Tristan, Bedwyr, and Dinadin are all gone. As to Geraint and Gaheris, I love them dearly but Gaheris is more of an academic than a warrior and I wouldn’t want to drag him along on a quest, especially as I have every intention of riding hard and fast and camping rough. He wouldn’t do well. Nor would Geraint, though he’d manage. Besides, we neither of us trust Agravaine farther than we can throw him, Uncle, and to be brutally frank, after myself, Geraint is the best option for heir - and the two of them can keep an eye on Agravaine while I’m gone. 

Arthur gazed at his nephew for a long time, presumably thinking through everything Gawain had said. Finally, his brows drew together in consternation. “Well,” he grumbled, “I can’t fault your logic, but I want you to take at least one other Knight.” 

“Bors, then,” said Gareth so quickly that he must have been expecting it. “He’s the only option left.” Arthur sighed again but made a little gesture of acquiescence. I grimaged. This would not be a pleasant journey, not with Bors along. Lancelot and I would have to be very careful, for it was well-known that he was...particular. He would disapprove volubly if he found out about us. Oh he wouldn’t speak of it, wouldn’t tell anyone, but that would be out of duty to the King, not out of any acceptance on his part. But there really was no other option, so I kept my complaints to myself. Lancelot couldn’t quite, however.

“ _ Must _ it be  _ Bors _ ?” he asked and I could hear how much effort he was putting into  _ not _ whining. 

“Of those few who are here, he is the best option,” Arthur reaffirmed, but I could see that he too was unhappy about it. 

“And why do there need to be four of us?” Now Lancelot sounded petulant, but everyone in the room was willing to let it slide. 

“Because that’s how many of you I feel comfortable sending,” retorted the King, effectively closing the subject. My lover bit his lip but said no more.

“We have your permission then, Sire?” asked Gawain formally. Arthur nodded, but his shoulders were slumped in defeat. He truly did not want us to go. 

Gawain turned to Lancelot and I, and have his orders in the same quiet, business-like tone that his uncle so often used. “I will inform Bors of our plans and we will meet at the stables in an hour. Pack for a week, just to be safe.”

“Good idea,” murmured Lancelot.

The prince gave him a searching look. “Still have your Bad Feeling do you?” he asked softly. Lancelot just nodded sadly and we went our separate ways. 

An hour later, packed and dressed for travel and still eating fresh bread and cheese from the kitchens, Lancelot and I arrived at the stables to find Gawain waiting for us with our already-saddled mounts. The perpetually calm Knight still looked rather agitated, but he smiled when he saw us. “I’m glad you two are coming,” had said by way of greeting. Lancelot grumbled something inaudible but I returned Gawain’s smile and laughed, “Don’t mind him, he’s just being grumpy. It will do us both good to get away from Camelot for a time.”

“I am not grumpy,” groused my lover,” fastening his packs in place. 

I winked at Gawain and whispered loudly, “He’s just miffed because I wouldn’t get back in bed with him this morning.”

The Prince laughed aloud and Lancelot actually blushed faintly. I grinned, a little surprised that I had had the nerve to say that out loud. It’s one thing to withstand teasing, but it’s something else entirely to bring it on oneself. At least I was now certain that Gawain truly didn’t mind our relationship, and that eased my mind somewhat.

Just then, Bors put in an appearance. He didn't look to be in too fine a mood himself, but all he said was, “We’re ready to go then?” We all nodded our assent and set off in silence save for the rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves. 

The day was a fine one, all blue skies and warm breezes heralding the arrival of true summer. We road along a well-kept but relatively unused road through the forest to the west of Camelot, led by Gawain, who seemed to know where he was going. It was peaceful, almost joyful, and by mid morning our moods had lightened significantly. I grinned over at Lancelot, who rode beside me, and asked, “Do you remember the first journey you took me on when I was a squire?”

He laughed. “Oh yes!”

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one,” said Gawain over his shoulder, “What happened?” 

“Do you want...” began Lance, glancing at me, but I shook my head. 

“Go ahead, you tell it, at least the first part.”

Lancelot shrugged and began: “Gareth had been my squire for less than a week when the King got word that Cedric, King of the southern Saxon kingdom, was open to talking peace.” Bors eyebrows rose. Clearly this was news to him. “Of course, with Arthur’s kingdom at war with Vortigern and the Eastern Saxons, and many of the nobles - and commanders for that matter - didn’t see the difference between one Saxon kingdom and another. Cedric knew this and Arthur knew it, so Cedric approached the king through...back channels. Frankly, I won’t reveal how exactly as for all I know it still may be...useful.” Bors rolled his eyes, but Gawain just motioned for Lancelot to continue, which he did. “Anyhow, it was arranged that Cedric would cend a representative to specified place in Gaul, and Arthur would send someone to the same place to meet that representative and that two men would simply exchange information - essentially, what the respective leaders were willing to offer and accept, what they had in mind for this theoretical peace treaty.”

“And my uncle chose to send you...” mused Gawain.

“Yes. At the time, I actually knew very little about how it had been arranged or what exactly was going on. Arthur just told me that he was sending me to Gaul to speak with a man close to Cedric because Cedric wanted official peace. I  was surprised and not entirely pleased - you know I am a suspicious person by nature - but I liked the idea of peace on at least part of the border, so I went.”

He paused, and I picked up the tale. “It was early one morning - very early, before dawn - when Lancelot came into my room and woke me. At first, I thought I had done something wrong. You would never believe how jumpy I was those first days and weeks as his squire!” Lancelot muttered something, but I chose to ignore it and continued, “I started to apologize, but he put his hand over my mouth and said something like , ‘Get up and pack, we’re leaving in an hour. I’ll meet you at the stables. Try not to let anyone see you.’ I was thrilled by the adventure of it. Even riding all night in the rain-”

“It was not raining!” interjected Lancelot with mock offense. 

“Oh fine,  _ drizzling _ . But even then, I was excited. And when Lance told me where we were going and why....” I paused, smiling and remembering the thrill of it, and the pride I felt at being able to help the King with something so important. Then, before I could go on, Gawain held up a hand and hushed me, gesturing ahead. I looked and saw that just up the road was small clearing that bore evidence of having been used as a temporary campsite. And standing in the middle was the green-cloaked knight, minus helmet. I - and everyone else - did a double-take. Auburn  hair tumbled down over  _ her _ shoulders, glowing in the sun. Beside me, Gawain swore obscenely under his breath. 

We approached slowly and dismounted, and I looked more closely at the woman. She was about my age, with a nobility and subtle strength in her bearing that was almost palpable. Her eyes were dark brown and full of intelligence and light, her face refined but not delicate - beautiful. In fact, she was positively stunning. 

“My lords?” she said simply, looking vaguely expectant. 

“You...you’ve been waiting for us?” managed Gawain finally.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“Umm...sorry...but may as I ask why?” 

“Of course. But why don’t you sit and make yourselves comfortable first?” 

Gawain hesitated for a moment, then cautiously nodded his assent and dismounted. The woman smiled, then excused herself. She returned to the clearing a few minutes later, clad in a sweeping split-skirted gown of forest green over practical dark brown trews, her hair braided down her back. We rose from where we were sitting on the ground and Gawain bounded slightly and began to speak, but she gestured us all back to our seats and settled herself opposite us, saying, “Never fear, Sir Gawain, you will have your answers.”

“Thank you, my lady,” replied Gawain politely, sketching another bow. Our mystery ‘knight’ smiled ever so slightly at him before returning to her previous serious demeanor. 

“First,” she began with great gravity, “Allow me to apologize for my deceptions last night. I assure you, if there had been a better road I would have taken it.” We murmured out polite assent and waited. With a sigh, she continued, “Allow me to start from the beginning. My name is Lynette. Princess Lynette of Lyonesse.” Gawain started visibly and I wracked my brain for where I had heard of Lyonesse. “A little over a month ago, my land was...invaded, for lack of a better word, by a sorcerer. We are being held captive in our own castle. With the help of my servant I escaped and came to seek aid.”

“But why trick us?” blurted Bors, “Arthur would never deny you aid!” 

In a flash, I remembered where I had heard of Lyonesse and all - or at least most - of the pieces fell into place. “That’s the problem,” I said to Bors, “Arthur  _ wouldn’t _ deny her aid, but Lyonesse isn’t under his protection.” Lynette gave me a vaguely impressed look. “Lyonesse. The Lost Kingdom. During the Saxon Wars, when Ar- When the King united Britain, Lyonesse rejected the offer and came instead under the protection of the Saxons. If Arthur sent aid it could be viewed as an act of war.” Everyone, including Gawain, stared at me and I swelled a bit with pride. It was a rare thing indeed to understand something before Gawain did. 

Beside me, Lancelot sighed heavily and finished the explanation in an extremely weary tone of voice. “Knowing this - and, presumably, knowing that the Saxons wouldn’t help you - you came to us in disguise and lured us out without the King knowing, thereby giving him deniability.”

“You bet your...your future on...” Gawain trailed off, clearly unable to say it.

“On your nobility and the King’s good sense,” finished Lynette calmly, “Both of which are renowned throughout the land. Not a bad bet, as I see it. So, will you help us?”

“After you  _ tricked _ us?” demanded Bors, “How can we trust-”

“Bors!” snapped Gawain, glaring. Turning back to Lynette he said quietly but firmly, “Please forgive him, my lady. Of course we will help you.”

 

Lynette was, understandably, anxious to be going, so we mounted up and moved on, eating a hasty lunch of apples and cheese in the saddle. After a time, I found myself riding beside her. Lynette smiled at me and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I know Gawain and Lancelot by their devices, and Gawain called the other man Bors, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

“It’s not like Gawain to forget his manners,” I began, instantly jumping to the defense of  my ‘brother’ even though he had indeed forgotten to make introductions. 

“Oh he seems an extremely courteous man,” Lynette assured me. 

“He is.”

“So, what is your name? You’re a Knight as well, aren’t you?”

I took a moment to appreciate her directness, and replied, “Yes, your highness. My name is Gareth. Sir Gareth.”

“Are you, by chance, Gawain’s brother?” she asked, then, quickly, “And please don’t call me ‘highness’.” 

“Well you are, aren’t you?” I returned with a smile. 

“Lynette is sufficient. About Sir Gawain...”

“He’s my adoptive brother of sorts,” I told her, “I’m peasant born and he is a prince, but...” I shrugged and added with a laugh, “And good luck getting anyone around here to call you just ‘Lynette’!”

“You are particular about titles?”

“Not among friends, but we hold to good manners otherwise.”

“I see...” We descended into silence for a few moments, then she glanced at me sideways and asked quietly, “How did you meet Sir Lancelot?”

I smiled. Just thinking about Lance made me happy. “I was eight - the fifth and youngest boy in a family of nine. He was...” I smiled again, “Well, he was Lancelot. Twenty-five years old, the King’s right-hand, and probably the most famous person in the country short of Arthur himself. The King’s army was camped not far from our village, returning to Camelot after a summer of escalating border wars with the Saxons. I had been sent to the market to fetch I-forget-what and quite literally walked into the two of them.”

“Lancelot and the King?”

I nodded and continued, “Long story short, I was taken on as a page. Four years later I became Lancelot’s squire. And about six years ago I was knighted.” 

“Hmm.”

“Her reaction confused me slightly for she sounded amused, but said nothing more. 

*  *  *  *

Gawain called a halt quite early that evening. We set up a rough camp in a pretty glad near a river and sent Bors hunting. Then Gawain asked Lynette to take a walk with him. Lancelot came up and stood just behind my shoulder, so close that we were touching. “What do you suppose Gawain is doing?” he asked softly.

I shrugged, “He undoubtedly has a lot of questions for her and knowing Gawain he doesn’t feel comfortable quizzing her in front of us. This is between them - at least as he sees it, I’m sure - so he probably just wants to straighten some things out.” 

“And is that why we stopped so early? It’s two hours or more ‘til dusk...”

“Well once he’s spoken with Lynette, Gawain will likely want to talk with all of us, make some plans, possibly look at a map...not many people even remember exactly where Lyonesse  _ is _ anymore.” 

Lancelot was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “We’re going to be on our own for this.”

I nodded, understanding perfectly what he was talking about. We could not ask for any aid in this venture because to do so - with us being Knights of the Round Table and speaking with the King’s authority - could be construed as an act of war against the Saxons. Ten years of hard-won peace could be shattered by one wrong move on our part. My next thought I spoke aloud. “And if we are caught we must protect the King. At least he honestly knows nothing of this little adventure. Beyond that we went looking for a green-clad knight.”

Lancelot sighed heavily. “This could go very bad very quickly...” I nodded, leaning back slightly into the comfort of his body.

“At some point - not tonight, it’s too soon, but before we reach Lyonesse - we need to decide on a story.”

“You mean what to say if we're captured by the Saxons?”

“I mean if we have to talk to  _ anyone _ . We have to be sure that we don’t start a war...”

“That means someone is going to have to take the blame...or responsibility.” 

“Gawain-” I began, but Lancelot cut me off.

“It can’t be Gawain.”

“Oh?” I asked carefully, wanting to hear Lancelot’s thoughts. 

“It can’t be Gawain,” he repeated, a strange sort of sadness in his voice, “I  know what you mean when you say ‘we must protect the King.’ You mean we have to protect the security of the Kingdom.” I nodded and Lance continued, “That includes - that  _ must _ include - securing the future of the Kingdom.”

“And Gawain is Heir,” I  murmured as understanding dawned. 

“Exactly. Even if the worst happened and he was captured, Arthur would likely be able to get him back-” 

“- so long as the ‘invasion’ couldn’t be blamed on him,” I finished slowly, beginning to get a bad feeling about where this was going. 

“I’m King’s Champion and a noble in my own right...”

“You want to take the blame?”

“I don’t see another good option!” Only now did Lancelot begin to sound frustrated. 

“Bors and I are both Knights, we have nearly as much authority - certainly enough -”

“Enough to overrule Gawain and I? No, Gareth, if Gawain is to have a chance of getting out of this unscathed politically it must be seen as my idea. I  _ could _ conceivable pressure even Arthur’s Heir into a hairbrained mission like this. I have the seniority, for one thing.” 

I sighed, vaguely annoyed because he was right. “We’ll talk later. Tomorrow or the next day,” I said by way of assenting, “Everyone will need to be on the same page.” Lancelot embraced me briefly, a sort of silent ‘thank you’, then we moved apart. A good thing too, for Bors reappeared shortly. 

“Where’d Gawain go?” he asked brusquely, setting down two hares by the fire pit we had dug. 

“He’s speaking with the princess,” I told him, moving to our packs so I could begin getting dinner around. One thing I knew from travelling with these men previously - if I wanted to eat well I had best do the cooking myself. 

“So, what do you think of this princess?” 

Lancelot glanced at Bors, clearly unhappy with his tone of voice. “She strikes me as being extremely intelligent, and she certainly has a lot of nerve. Why?”

“I just think we accepted her story awfully quickly...”

“Gawain is speaking to her now,” I repeated firmly, “And I for one have great confidence in Gawain.”

That effectively silenced Bors - which had been my intention - and he sat down grumpily to begin skinning the rabbits. Since he didn’t say anything else I too kept my thoughts to myself. So long as he pulled his weight and was tolerably well-mannered I could put up with him. BOrs was a good knight - a great fighter, unfailingly loyal to his liege lord - but I didn’t like him much on a personal basis. He always seemed to be looking for a reason to take offense and he was known for being rather old-fashioned. He often opposed the King’s more radical changes and my understand was that when Arthur was young and not yet King he had bors and clashed quite spectacularly. But that was one of the things that we all loved about Arthur: he wanted to hear opposing views, so someone like Bors was a valued member of our company  _ because _ he argued with the king. No wonder some people thought Arthur - and all of us - were a little crazy. 

Gawain and Lynette returned after a little more than an hour. The Prince was laughing and generally looked happier than I had seen him in a long time, which I found a little odd. Lynette appeared for more than she had been relaxed than she had been all day, so I gathered that their conversation had gone well. 

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” I informed them brightly, “Rabbit stew, thanks to Bors. And we still have fresh bread so we should eat well tonight.” 

“Why thank you, Gareth,” said Lynette, favoring me with a smile that I’m sure would melt most men’s hearts, “It smells wonderful.”

“Thank you, milady,” I said, smiling in return. 

“You’re lucky Gareth’s the one cooking,” chuckled Gawain. 

Lynette settled herself primly on a tree stump and glanced up at Gawain. “Gareth said earlier that you’re his adoptive brother?”

“More or less. I have three little brothers anyway - two exactly Gareth’s age - so it didn’t seem to be too much trouble to acquire another.” We all laughed, but Gawain sobered quickly and added, “In all seriousness though, I see Gareth as part of my family and so does most of Camelot.” 

“Most people have forgotten that I am peasant-born,” I clarified, “And neither Gawain nor his brothers do much to disabuse anyone of that notion, which I appreciate.” 

“Why?” 

I suspected that she could deduce the answer herself, but before I could reply Bors spoke up. “There are those who would not like the thought of a commoner sitting at the Round Table, sitting in judgement of notability and advising the King on matters of policy and law.” 

“I see,” said Lynette, casting Bors a significant look, for his tone suggested that he himself was not entirely comfortable with the thought. “But,” she added, “He is not a commoner now, he is a Knight, and therefore a noble.”

“Some people don’t see it that way,” huffed Bors.

“They do not protest that the King-” Lynette stopped abruptly and glanced down at her stew.

“It’s alright,” encouraged Gawain, “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, I forgot for a moment the company I am keeping.”

Lancelot laughed then, startling us all a bit. For a man who practically never expresses mirth in public, he has a wonderful laugh. “Don’t worry, milady,” he told her, “We’ll not be insulted.” 

Lynette gazed at him for a long moment, then asked quietly, “They would mind Sir Gareth’s common birth, but not that the King is bastard-born?” 

“Is that all you were going to say?” chuckled Gawain, “Lance is right, you needn’t worry about insulting us.”

“The King has long made it abundantly clear that he himself has no problem with his birth,” Lance explained, “When his only reaction is to shrug and look bored, nobles quickly grow tired of discussing it.” 

“And that wouldn’t work for Gareth?”

“I’m not the King,” I reminded her with a smile, “And, when it comes right down to it, the King is royal on both sides.” 

Lynette nodded and I sensed that she would be content to move on. I opened my mouth to change the subject, but before I could, Lancelot muttered, “He may not be King but he will someday be King’s Champion so they damn well better get used it.”

I glanced over, shocked, and elbowed him hard in the ribs. “What?” he asked, rubbing his side. He would probably have a bruise the following day.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” I  hissed. Then, as an afterthought, “And I  _ don’t _ need you to defend me!” 

“On the contrary-” I made to hit him again but he held up his hands and said quickly, “No! Let me finish!” I stayed my hand and he continued, “On the contrary, it is necessary. People need to know that there is someone ready to fill that place and Gawain really ought to become familiar with...the whole thing.

“Well, thanks for the heads up,” muttered the prince sarcastically.

Bors was practically glaring at me. “You’re to be King’s Champion?” he demanded harshly, “When exactly was this decided?”

“After Cador nearly had my head in the last tournament,” replied Lancelot with just a slight edge to his voice, “Or rather, I decided it some years ago and Arthur became aware of if after the tournament. We ought to have informed Gawain properly, but we didn’t.”

“And what gave you the right to choose?” growled Bors. 

“Nothing, except that I know what the job entails so I know what to look for in a person. And i’ve been training Gareth now for almost ten years - consciously training him for this for about seven. Though he’s only known for a couple months, so don’t get all pissy about it.”

Lynette giggled suddenly, cutting off Bors’ reply. “What is it?” I asked, genuinely curious what she found so amusing. 

In reply, she gestured at Lancelot and I where we sat close beside one another and said, “You two. You two are so adorable together!”

Gawain practically choked on his food as he struggled not to laugh aloud. Lancelot tensed slightly but said nothing. And I? I felt a smile turn up the corners of my mouth even as my heart twisted with nervousness at the realization that we had already failed to hide our relationship. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Bors. Lynette gave him a you-must-be-joking look until the Knight glanced back at us. He stared blankly for a long moment, during which my heart thudded and my hand itched to reach for Lance’s. Then Bors laughed uncomfortably and shook his head. “Nah. You’re out of your mind...”

“Bors...” said Gawain warningly, “Mind your manners.”

Bors glared across the fire at Lynette and fairly growled, “Me? Mind  _ my  _ manners? Hw dare she say things like that?” Then to Lynette herself, “Don’t you  _ dare _ say things like that about Sir Lancelot!”

“Forgive me,” murmured Lynette, but Bors just stood abruptly and stalked off. So much for having a tactical conversation after dinner. 

Lynette sighed and looked at us with terrible regret in her eyes. “Truly, my lords, I’m so sorry, I didn’t...”

“There’s no reason to apologize,” said Lancelot to my surprise, though the nonchalance in his voice sounded somewhat forced. 

“I did not mean any insult-”

Lancelot shook his head sharply. “It wasn’t an insult.” and then he shocked me further by reaching over and taking my hand. Gawain merely raised one eyebrow slightly, but Lynette smiled in relief. 

“I was so sure I was right or I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I assured her, “But Bors doesn’t know yet.” Lynette looked so horrified that I hurried to add, “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.” 

“Assuming he ever believes it,” added Gawain quietly. 

*  *  *  *

The next morning, Gawain’s doubts were put to rest. The party had slept well past dawn so we agreed to deal a little longer and fortify ourselves with a good meal. Lynette began sorting through the pack we Knights had brought, and sent Lancelot and I off to replenish our firewood pile. The two of us were happy to oblige, for we had not been alone together for even a moment since the journey began. To our credit, we waited until we were well out of sight of camp before embracing. Or rather, Lance waited until we were well out of sight before grabbing me, pulling me hard against his body and giving me a crushing kiss - which I happily returned. When we finally broke apart somewhat I laughed, “And you’re supposed to be the one with self-control!”

“You’re a bad influence,” he growled in my ear before kissing me again. I groaned into his lips wondering just how long we could afford to be gone and mentally cursing Lance for putting his heavy doublet back on so I couldn’t slide my hands up his shirt.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - Lancelot and I are both trained warriors and even lost in our private bliss we were both instantly aware of another presence in the immediate area. Lance looked up quickly and I took a half-step backward and turned. Bors was standing about ten paces away, gaping. Even as my stomach sunk sickeningly, I said, “Bors, let me-” but the other Knight just shook his head sharply. He was staring at Lance, I realized belatedly. At that moment, I might as well have not existed. 

“How could you?” Whispered Bors in a horrified tone, then, louder and disgusted, “She was right. I can’t believe she was right. You...” He didn’t seem able to finish that sentence aloud, but his eyes said it clearly enough:  _ you are revolting _ .

“Yes,” replied Lancelot with forced calm, “She was right. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but-”

“But?” Interjected Bors, “How can you even try to defend yourself?” Now the older Knight turned to me. “And  _ you _ . This is all  _ your _ fault.” I was so bewildered by the fact ath Bors sounded  _ betrayed _ , of all things, that I almost missed what he said next: “You filthy  _ commoner _ !” 

Lancelot reached for his sword and I grabbed his wrist, stepping further away even as I did so. He and I were going to have a serious discussion later about his growing habit of jumping to my defense. But first, I needed to deal with Bors. “Look,” I began, “I’m sorry if you take issue with this, and we’ll try not to bother you, but you’re stuck traveling with us and it will be.a hell of a lot nicer for everyone if we can all be civil to one another.” See, I’ve learned something from living around diplomats much of my life. Sadly, my effort did little good, for Bors just cast one final disdainful glance our way and left. I groaned, hung my head, and muttered, “As though this trip wasn’t going badly enough...”

“It’ll be alright, Gareth,” Lance said quietly, laying a hand on my shoulder, but he didn’t sound convinced. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slightly abrupt ending. The next bit briefly shifts to Lancelot's POV and I decided that sticking it in here, after Gareth has been narrating for the whole chapter, was just too confusing. 
> 
> I'm working on the next chapter (it's been so long since I wrote this down originally that I'm having fun rediscovering it as I go!) and hopefully I'll get it up before midterms take over my life. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love : )


	4. Seeking Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot struggles with his demons (with some help from Gareth), and Lynette reveals that the sorcerer might be part of a much larger plot (aka Lancelot gets another Bad Feeling).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This maybe edges into the territory of character study in some places. Hopefully hearing Gareth wax eloquent about his lover doesn’t bore anyone ; )
> 
> Also, part of this sort of deserves a Feels warning (in a good way I hope)… Enjoy!
> 
> [Starts with Lancelot’s POV]

 

Bors words rang in my head that whole long day as we rode in icy silence. Gawain and Lynette chatted merrily to one another, but we three were too weighted down by the morning’s encounter to even attempt conversation. At least for me, it wasn’t just the insult and confusion of it, it was that suddenly all of my insecurities had returned full force. I could stand one of my fellows being disgusted with me, my father and weapon master had done far worse than glare and look betrayed as Bors had done. What I couldn’t stomach was the thought that I had brought such scorn down on poor Gareth’s head. And what would Gareth think of me now? He put up with so much, but surely this open disgust would drive him away. Moreover, why had Gareth not allowed me to put Bors in his place when he called him a filthy commoner? My blood was still simmering at that. Eventually, however, my growing despair overwhelmed even my anger and I fell back into the habitual cold depression which for the past months Gareth had kept at bay.

Perhaps my greatest fault - or at least a significant one among many - is that when I begin to worry about one thing, all of my other fears come to the fore as well. I spent much of that afternoon drowning in concerns ranging from doubt about my own physical fitness for this mission, to suspecting Lynette of attempting to deceive and trap us. I fretted about the strength of our peace with the Saxons and about Arthur’s safety in my absence. Mostly, however, I despaired over my future with Gareth. He made me happy and I was sure that I was going to lose him one way or another. 

In short, by the time we had stopped at a little inn shortly after dusk I was empty and exhausted, and, judging by the stable boys’ reactions, my expression was fully forbidding enough to send people scurrying away from my vicinity. I was perfectly alright with that, for I was in no mood to deal with anyone anyone. Gawain smartly let me be, choosing to settle into a corner of the common room with Lynette to continue their conversation, while Bors took himself off to get drunk at a tavern across the way, very clearly putting distance between himself and the rest of us. I went upstairs to one of the rooms we had rented for the night and collapsed on the bed; I had no appetite and did not want to sit among the other travellers in the common room. So sunk was I in my misery that I didn’t even twitch when the door opened and someone entered. 

*  *  *  *

I entered the room half expecting to find a dagger at my throat. Even in the heart of Castle Camelot, perhaps the safest place in the Kingdom, Lancelot was fully jumpy enough to slam me against a wall or turn on me with a raised weapon if I startled him.  But on this evening, Lance didn’t so much as stir. I paused, struck by the scene before me. Lancelot - my mentor, my lover, my friend and most trusted companion - lay on his back on the bed, eyes closed and hands resting on his stomach. His red cloak was draped beneath him and his serene, blank face was very pale against his dark hair and clothing. He looked like a corpse laid out for viewing, and it was like icy dagger to my heart. All the words I had planned flew out of my head and I wondered  _ how _ I had been prepared to chastise him for his defensiveness that morning and frigid silence and apparent moping all day.

“Lance...” I breathed, falling to my knees beside the bed. He flinched, but otherwise didn’t move. I gently touched his forehead. “Lance, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” Still no response. I bit my lip. I loved this man terribly. I had loved him for ten years and worshipped him for longer than that. Most people were afraid of Lancelot or resented his position of power; he was adamantly disliked by most of the Court, and widely regarded as somewhat inhuman (for better or worse) by most of the populace. But I loved him. More, where others felt fear I felt only a great tenderness and where others saw a cold killer I saw a deeply damaged, vulnerable man. 

Moving slowly, as I would around a skittish horse or wounded animal, I climbed onto the bed and laid down beside him, propping myself up on one elbow so I could see him. I admired my beloved for a moment, taking pleasure in just looking at the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face, the high cheekbones and noble forehead, the elegantly arched brows and the faint web of lines about his eyes, the firm, strong line of his lips. Beneath my hand, which rested on his chest, his heart beat steadily and I could feel the strength and resilience of his body pressed close to mine. With a little sigh, I leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, a gentle, lingering kiss of the sort we didn’t share often enough in my humble opinion. Lancelot made a surprised little noise, and when I finally drew back he looked up at me with wide, sad eyes. I smiled gently down at him and made to kiss him again, but Lancelot pulled away from me, sitting up abruptly. I suppressed a sigh and said, “We need to talk.” 

Lancelot nodded miserably. With his eyes fixed on the floor beneath his feat he whispered, “Yes, we do. I...I need to know something - to understand something.”

“Alright,” I agreed, shifting to sit beside him, “What don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand why you stay with me. I am so much older than you and as we discovered today this thing between us is only going to bring you grief. And quite frankly, if it’s sex you want, there are half a dozen other men I can think of who would be more than happy to oblige.”

I was completely taken aback by the coarseness of that statement and by the very idea that Lancelot would ever think such a thing about me. It saddened me deeply for it was just more evidence that Lancelot had no sense of self-worth as anything other than a bodyguard and assassin for the King. I paused for a moment before replying, knowing that whatever I said next next would have a great impact. My instinct was to be gentle and quiet, but I realized that this might not be the best approach this time. If Lancelot was going to be blunt, well, so would I. “Don’t get me wrong,” I began dryly, “I like the sex. But for Christ’s sake, Lance! I loved you for almost a decade before I ever slept with you! That is not what I care about! And for that matter, nor is your age.” I moved to kneel in front of him and continued earnestly, “ _ I love you _ . I love everything about you. Would you  _ please, please  _ trust me? You don’t need to fret like this. Worry about someone shooting me in the back tomorrow, don’t worry about me leaving you. You aren’t getting rid of me, Lance, you can trust in that.”

“I...I want to,” he breathed, looking at me helplessly. “I am  _ trying _ too.”

I sighed, for I knew that meant that he didn’t fully trust me yet. At least, not in this. I wondered vaguely how Lancelot could trust me so completely and totally with his life, but hardly all with his heart. “Well, I’ll be here when you eventually can,” I said, not entirely succeeding in keeping the exhaustion from my voice, “And until then, would you please stop fretting? Bors is being an ass, but he’ll get over it, and nothing he says or does is going to change anything. Right now, we need to focus on helping Lynette.”

“Yes,” he assented wearily, “I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. I miss having time alone with you.” He glanced down and muttered ruefully, “That may be part of why I’m moping...” I chuckled, pleased that he had recognized that that was essentially what he was doing - and that he was willing to almost joke about it. I slipped my arm around his waist, willing to let it drop, but Lance wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Gareth,” he said quietly, leaning forward slightly to rest his head on my shoulder, “Really, it’s not fair to you when I do this. I...I’m sorry, I’ll try harder...” 

“I don’t mind, not really,” I told him, and meant it. “I’d rather you talk to me than keep things from me, especially things that are bothering you.”

“Either way, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult.”

“Eh,” I said with a shrug, trying to move on, “Just don’t do it  _ too  _ often. And as for never being alone with me...” I smiled slowly, “We’re alone right now.” Then, before Lancelot could reply, I kissed him deeply.

Lance moaned quietly into my mouth, a sound of both surprise and pleasure. It made me smile as I tangled my hands in his hair. I was still kneeling in front of him, bracketed by his slightly spread legs, and it was giving me Ideas about things I would like to do to him. But when I pulled back a bit to begin pulling off my many heavy layers, the expression in Lance’s eyes gave me pause. His pupils were blown wide with pleasure, but he was looking at me like a drowning man looks at his only means of rescue. Changing my mind about what I wanted for the evening I reached up and brushed a stray lock of dark hair back off his face, saying softly as I did, “Make love to me. Please?” 

 

Gareth’s request startled me a little, but it also warmed the icy knot inside my chest that had been forming since that morning. It wasn’t enough to thaw it completely just yet, but I began to feel a bit more human again. I nodded slowly and was rewarded with a beatific smile. It lit up that angelic face of his and made him look even younger than he already was. I urged him gently to his feet and stood as well, my hands already going to the laces of his heavy, padded doublet. I let him help with mine as well, but as soon as we were both down to shirts and partly unlaced breeches I stopped him with a kiss. Gareth melted into my arms, letting me support his weight and take control. We were pressed together from knees to shoulders, and I managed to keep us that way as I turned us around so Gareth’s back was to the bed and laid him down gently, crawling over top of him as I did for neither of us was willing to let more space than necessary come between us. 

I slid my hands slowly under his shirt, reveling in the breathy little moans that fell from his lips as my fingers found all of the sensitive places on his sides and ribs. I took my own sweet time peeling the garment off him, then did the same with his breeches. This wasn’t like our last night in Camelot though; I wasn’t teasing or stalling. I was worshipping. I was trying to show Gareth with actions what I was so bad at saying with words:  _ I love you I love you I love you _ . 

With Gareth now laid out naked before me like an offering to the gods or a fallen angel I paused just long enough to strip off my own shirt and breeches unceremoniously, tossing them on the floor. Then I bit back a curse at the realization that the oil was in my pack on the other side of the room. Gareth made a little noise of displeasure when he felt me get off the bed, and beamed at me when I returned a few moments later, vial in hand. 

I leaned down to kiss him again, slow and passionate and weighted with all the emotions of the day. Gareth’s hands tangled in my hair and kept me there for a long, long moment even after the kiss ended, the two of us lying with our foreheads together, breathing the same air and just  _ being _ for a moment. But he had asked me to make love to him and I had every intention of doing just that. 

The oil was now warm from being in my hand and I sat back enough to pour some onto my fingers and carefully re-stopper the container, not wanting to risk spilling the precious substance. But when Gareth made to arrange himself as he had last time I stopped him. I didn’t want him doing any of the work this time.

I took a great deal of time preparing him, partly because he enjoys it, and partly because I wanted him to enjoy what came next unequivocally. This was not a night for finding pleasure in pain, it was a night for curing pain through pleasure. I settled myself over him, in him, and rolled my hips very slowly. Gareth moaned again, long and low, his body arching up slightly. I did it again, avidly watching the little changes in expression that flitted across Gareth’s face. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back and he looked almost euphoric (which was what I was aiming for so kept up what I was doing). 

Gareth’s hands found my shoulders and he clung on as if for dear life, his legs trembling where they were wrapped around my waist. Pleasure was building in my gut too, and I let my head rest against his shoulder, drinking in the smell and feel of him as I tried to focus on keeping it just right for my lover. It seemed to be working, judging by the sounds he was making. No words - this whole time neither of us had spoken, which was a kind of intimacy all its own - just breathy little noises falling from parted, bitten lips that I couldn’t resist kissing again. 

I could feel as Gareth neared the edge and picked up my pace for the first time, holding myself up on my elbows so I could see his face. Then, I leaned down and breathed in his ear, “Come for me, love.” And he did. Silent rather than loud with overwhelming pleasure as his body convulsed under me and pulled me over with him. 

We lay tangled on the bed for a long time after that. I turned on my side and held Gareth close to my chest, unwilling to let him go or let the moment end. I nuzzled his hair and distantly heard myself murmuring endearments in his ear. Gareth, for his part, simply curled into my body and stayed there. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just dazed, but I for one didn’t mind in the least. 

I think we both catnapped a bit, warm and sated from sex, and emotionally wrung out from, well, everything. I would have happily stayed there forever (and the rest of the world be damned) stroking Gareth’s hair and indulging in some of my more protective impulses, but after a time he stretched and blinked owlishly up at me. “Hungry,” he said simply, pouting slightly. I couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle at just how adorable he looked, hair mussed, eyes sleepy, and lips still a little red. 

“I think the others were planning on meeting for dinner,” I told him.

“Mumph,” grumbled Gareth, pressing his face back into my chest rather than actually answer. A few minutes later, however, he sighed gustily and rolled onto his back. “Ugh. Right. I think I actually do need a meal.”

I felt cold again at the very thought of leaving the bed, but the logical part of me agreed. “That is probably a good idea…” 

Gareth sat up, but then leaned down and kissed me again. “Thank you.”

“Mm…” I hummed, unsure what to say to that. 

He murmured in my ear, as if he didn’t quite want to say the words aloud, “I know this hard on you. So thank you for trying.” He pulled back a bit, smirked, and added, “And for the sex. The sex is exceptional.”

I found found myself laughing at that, and Gareth joined in a moment later, leaning against my shoulder and looking profoundly happy. My spirits lifted  considerably and I decided that I could probably survive dinner. 

*  *  *  *

We were late to dinner, earning knowing us knowing looks from Gawain, but I didn’t care a bit, still sleepy and sated from recent love-making. Lancelot had stopped moping, and now seemed to be in a surprisingly good mood. Of course, this only made Bors scowl deeply at us, but I ignored him. 

There were only a few other travellers in the tavern, plus the barkeep who was eyeing us cautiously. Only Lance had worn his cloak when he entered so it was not entirely obvious who we were, but we were well-dressed and paid in silver, and it was fairly clear that we were not average guests. The barkeep saw to it that we were served promptly and given what I must assume was the best food and drink available. We ate in silence for a time, enjoying the thick stew and buttered bread. Lynette turned up her nose at the mead, but the rest of us drank - Bors particularly. 

“Gawain and I have been talking,” began Lynette as we neared the end of our meal. 

“Always a dangerous proposition,” murmured Lancelot with a little smile, earning himself surprised looks from the rest of us. He didn’t see them though, for his eyes were closed as his head was tipped back against the wall behind him. I suppressed a self-satisfied smile even as Lynette gave me a vaguely amused look. Luckily, Bors was too far gone in his cups to notice or I’m sure he would have been physically ill at the realization of what was going on. I was actually rather impressed with Lynette’s perception though. I would have thought anyone who didn’t know Lance well would have struggled to be see just how contented he was at that moment. 

“Anyway,” continued the princess pointedly, “Gawain and I were discussing our course of action from this point. We’ve looked at a map.” I watched Lancelot bite back another snide remark. “There are essentially three routes into Lyonesse, two major roads and a river. It is surrounded on two, almost three sides by Saxon lands and the north western edge is thickly forested and infested with bandits. The easiest and safest way in is the river, but...”

“But unless we want to take our chances with an unknown invader, we had best find another way,” finished Gawain calmly.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the topic at hand. “Maybe this is a remarkably stupid question but...is there any chance that this sorcerer would be convinced to give in or leave just by our presence? I mean,” I continued quickly, “Do we know what he wants? Why he’s there? Is it possible he will give up without a fight?”

Lynette replied, “He made no demands when he came to us. He seems to believe that he is part of some greater plan. I think he is quite mad.”

I opened my mouth to point out that either way he seemed quite dangerous, but before I could, Lancelot sat up straighter, suddenly fully alert. “Did he hint at what this greater plan was?”

“I...I don’t think so. He really is raving mad. He muttered and talked to himself constantly.”

“Was there any phrase or name he repeated frequently?”

“I...he said ‘milord’ frequently: ‘milord will be pleased’ or ‘milord wishes...’” She paused and thought for a long moment. Just when I was sure that there was nothing else she added, “There was one other thing. I’d nearly forgotten, what with everything else. Sometimes in his ravings he would say ‘the queen’.” 

My body went cold and beside me Lancelot tensed, but it was Bors who spoke. “Are you seriously buying this?” He demanded in a slightly slurred voice.

“In fact,  _ yes _ ,” bristled Gawain, “She came to us seeking help-”

“Yet her story grows more and more ridiculous with each passing day!”

He had a point, but I could practically feel the waves of horror washing over Lancelot, and I was inclined to trust his instincts. Which reminded me that he and I still hadn’t had a chance to discuss his relation to the Morrigan...That was going to have to wait for another time though. 

“Gawain,” he said tightly, “I believe her. And I think we need to send a message to Arthur. Just in case. This isn’t something to take lightly.”

Gawain nodded firmly. Clearly he saw what I did - that Lancelot had another Bad Feeling and that it was directed at the Queen’s well-being. I watched as the prince came to a sudden decision. “Bors, pull yourself together and go to bed. Tomorrow you will ride back to Camelot and inform the King that the Queen may be in danger, and you will do so with a minimum of obvious skepticism.”

“Yes, Sir,” grumbled Bors, rising somewhat unsteadily and slouching up the stairs. 

“Why do you believe me?” asked Lynette after a moment of silence.

Gawain shrugged. “I won’t speak for the others, but I believe you because I don’t have compelling reasons not to and because you don’t strike me as the deceptive sort. Intelligent, but not deceptive.”

“Why thank you,” said Lynette coyly, favoring Gawain with a sweet smile. 

“I’m with Gawain on this one,” I added quietly. 

“And what of you, Sir Lancelot?” Lynette inquired, turning her eyes to him. Lancelot looked back at her for a moment calmly before replying. 

“I know the Queen is in danger, you told us the truth about that. And like Gawain I don’t see any deception in you. Besides...” he glanced down for a moment before continuing, “We are all of us used to risk. Even little Gareth has been to war. In our lives there are few  _ certainties _ ; we take risks all the time. As I see it, this is a far...better risk than many we’ve taken in the past and will likely take in the future.”

Even I was a little surprised by Lancelot’s eloquence. He spoke at length so infrequently that even those of us close to him forgot that he had been raised a prince, with an education equal to the King’s. Then again, not many people now knew that he had once been a prince.

We all sought our beds shortly after that. We had rented three rooms - one for Lynette, and two for the four of us men to share. Lancelot and I naturally had one, Bors was in the other, and Gawain offered to go on first watch. Lynette smiled at the three of us as we parted ways. 

I shut the door quietly behind myself and leaned against it, watching as Lance kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his heavy wool tunic. He ran his hand through his hair, combing it back away from his face and revealing for the briefest moment the silver at his temples. I smiled slightly. 

“What are you looking at?” asked Lance suddenly in a vaguely teasing tone, startling me out of my very pleasant thoughts. 

I grinned more broadly and replied, “You.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I suppose I still haven’t gotten over how handsome you are. Especially on the rare occasion that you’re in a decent mood.”

“Right...Sorry about earlier...” apologized Lance again, looking bashful, “I don’t know what got into me.”

I shook my head, wondering if it wa a record for Lancelot to apologize more than three times in one day - for the same thing no less! - but I decided it was important to clear this up once and for all rather than tease. “I think what Bors said really got to you. That’s understandable. Moreover, you and I still haven’t been together very long. You’ve not had a great deal of experience with...people staying with you, so it makes sense to me that you would worry about my reaction. Just stop fretting and don’t do it again. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“How is that you know me so well?”

I shrugged, wanting to divert another weighty conversation, and said, “I’ve known you a long time and you said yourself that I know more about your past than anyone else.” 

“Fair point,” he conceded, pulling his shirt over his head. I swallowed a groan. God, he looked like that. “Ah-hem. You’re staring again.” I made a small sound of agreement in my throat. Smiling slightly, Lancelot came and stood in front of me and took my hands, a rare gesture. “Come to bed,” he whispered, so soft I could barely hear it and wondered if I actually imagined the next words: “I’m frightened and I don’t want to be alone.” 

“This thing with the Queen?” I asked just as softly, letting him lead me across the room, afraid to fracture this suddenly tender moment. 

“Yes, partly. I’ve got a bad feeling that hasn’t gone away since Lynette appeared in Camelot...was it really only two nights ago? There’s something bigger - no, something underlying all of this that’s worrying me.”

“You don’t think it’s Lynette herself?”

“No,” said Lancelot quietly but firmly, drawing me down onto the bed with him and holding me close, “I think something very bad is going to happen - and I don’t think we can prevent it.” I shuddered and snuggled closer. We stayed like that until we both drifted off, clinging to each other even in sleep, seeking the only comfort we could find.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life is crazy and about to get crazier. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I reasonably can. (Goal is a week. We'll see how that goes...)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	5. The Calm...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Bors temporarily gone, the other four members take advantage of the last day before they ride into enemy territory to enjoy themselves quite thoroughly. But all is not well in Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this took an somewhat unintentional detour into backstory. But Lance and Gareth are cute so hopefully everyone can enjoy Lance talking more about the early years of his friendship with Gareth - long before they were sleeping together. 
> 
> Also, as the title implies, this chapter is "the calm before the storm"... so enjoy : )  
> (Seriously, I'm typing this out of an old notebook and even I had forgotten some of the plot twists I put in...just saying)

I had last watch that night and, per Gawain’s request, woke everyone just after dawn. He and Lance and I were no worse for wear, completely used to living on far less sleep than we had been getting these last few days. Lynette looked rather fuddled and tired, but she didn’t complain. And as for Bors...he was clearly paying for his drunkenness the night before and was in a correspondingly shitty mood. He barely said a word to any of us before saddling his horse and setting out back the way we had come. Riding at a good pace he would be able to reach Camelot shortly after nightfall, and he had instructions from Gawain to rejoin in two or three days time. We would follow the road we were currently on until we reached the borders of Lyonesse in a few days , then we would have to decide whether or not to remain on the road and be conspicuous or risk a journey through the forest. I knew Lancelot was a leaning toward the forest route and the element of surprise, but I was reserving judgement until we heard back from Bors. He might well bring news that changed our plans entirely; Lancelot’s concern was beginning to rub off on me.

Our company, minus Bors, set out immediately after a hasty breakfast. It was cool and damp, the sky grey and threatening rain. We would also be riding into far less friendly territory by the end of the day. The one bright spot was that the mood had lightened considerably now that it was just the four of us and Bors was no longer there to be huffy and judgmental. Lancelot and I rode side by side just behind Gawain and Lynette, the four of us chatting amiably. By noon, Lynette had even managed to coax from us the story of how Lance and I had met and eventually become lovers. It was strange to talk about it with someone who did not know us well and had not been around for much of the time we were discussing. However she seemed to find the whole thing very endearing and even romantic - which I found exceedingly hard to get my head around. As far as I could see, there was little enough romance about the situation Lance and I found ourselves in, but I was discovering that I rather liked Lynette, so I kept my mouth shut.

We ate lunch while riding - Lynette didn’t seem to complain and she was one of the best horsemen (or horsewomen) I had ever encountered outside of Arthur’s cavalry. Then, to my surprise, Gawain turned around in his saddle. “Say, Lance,” he began, “Why don’t you sing for us?”

“Because I don’t sing,” retorted Lancelot immediately, but there was a distinct edge of humor to his voice which emboldened me.

“Sure you do. You sing to me sometimes.”

Lancelot glared and Lynette giggled. “Come on Lance,” encouraged Gawain, “I know you have the best voice of anyone here - well, I don’t know about Lynette, but still. _Please_ , Lance?”

“No!”

“You know we’ll just keep bothering you until you agree.” We all looked at Lynette, who just smiled sweetly.

Lancelot, however, was not easily swayed. We pestered and begged on and off all afternoon, but it wasn’t until after dinner as we relaxed in the gathering twilight that Lance finally caved. Strangely, I was unhappy about it. Well, not exactly _unhappy_ , I was glad to hear him sing. The truth is, I was jealous. I _knew_ Lancelot rarely - _very rarely -_ agreed to sing, but he did so for me fairly often. He had sung me to sleep several nights. Simply put, I didn’t want to share, childish as that is.  

My lover doesn’t have an astounding voice - it is quiet and breathy - but he can hit notes perfectly. So that evening he sang softly to us. Simple, beautiful songs that Dinadin had composed over the years. It was a strange moment of companionship - the King’s Champion, a prince and princess from opposing countries, and a peasant-born farmer-cum-Knight.

As the moon rose over the trees, Gawain yawned and pointed out that we should get some rest as from here on out we would essentially be in hostile territory. Lynette curled up on Gawain’s bedroll close to the fire, Gawain stretched out nearby wrapped in his cloak, and Lancelot settled down with his back against a tree to take first watch. I fell asleep feeling more content than I had in some days, but sure deep in my bones that this would be the last time for a long time.

*  *  *  *

I opened my ears to the night sounds of the forest, knowing that the absence thereof would alert me to trouble long before my vision would, then turned my eyes to Gareth’s resting form. He was lying on his side, facing me, back to the fire. His bedroll was spread out beneath him but he was not sleep _in_ it. He looked a little cold and I wanted to go wrap my own heavy travelling cloak about him, but I suppressed this impulse. Not only would Gareth not appreciate it - he had spoken to me briefly that morning about my protectiveness and his growing annoyance - but I also wouldn’t be doing him any favors in the long run. It was still early spring, the weather was not warm, and there was every chance that we would be sleeping outside for some time. Better that he get used to the chill than be totally miserable if we lost our supplies or the temperature dropped or one of any dozen other possibilities.

I smiled slightly, proud, though I had little right to be. _I_ had taught him that trick years ago, feeling guilty at the time for making such a slight little thing sleep cold, but Gareth, being Gareth, hadn’t complained. He had been a _wonderful_ squire, attentive and interested, hard-working and trustworthy, very understanding... _When did I start to love him?_ I wondered suddenly. One day three or four years ago I had realized that I did, but it hadn’t come on me that suddenly I was sure. It was just that, well, he is so much _younger_ that I, and he always looked it too. When he was knighted at eighteen he could have passed for two years younger, and since I had continued training him he had still been a child to me - or at least a youth whom I should not think of that way.

Which brought me to another problem: when I had started to love him and when had I started to _desire_ him? I thought back all those years to the day we had met. He had courage and pluck which I liked since he also had enough good sense for three grown men. Those years that he was a page I had kept a discreet eye on him and actively monitored his progress in weapons training. I remembered thanking Gawain for giving the poor boy some protection from bullies, but quite frankly if _he_ hadn’t then _I_ would have and said bullies would have found that quite unpleasant.

I took Gareth on as a squire as soon as he was considered remotely ready and, in spite of the fact that I had once vowed _never_ to have a squire, I didn’t regret my decision for a moment. Those first two years we had been at war and Gareth had adapted with commendable - almost unbelievable - aplomb. Most importantly, he had also taken well to spending lots of time hovering around very powerful people.

Very abruptly a memory came to me. Gareth was fourteen and we had finally put down the last of the uprisings along the Saxon border. A small delegation had come to our camp to speak to the King about terms of surrender. It had been two years since we had been home and Arthur was more than ready to put this to rest - he was going to be very, very lenient. He greeted them as warmly as one can in that situation and thanked them for coming, then led them into the command tent so they could speak in private. I was there, of course, and so Gareth was as well. He would be serving refreshments and acting as a page since Arthur and I both trusted his discretion and infallible good manners. Just as Arthur started into the tent I turned slightly to give an order to a soldier who stood nearby. I saw a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye and turned back in time to see one of the Saxon delegates lunge at Arthur with a dagger. I was one step too far away to do anything and I knew it, but before I could even process that, little Gareth sprung at the man and caught is wrist. He suffered a deep gut across his ribs but saved the King’s life, for someone raised an alarm and soldiers fell on the delegation and detained them. I had watched, horrified, as Gareth sank to his knees, blood staining his doublet. He said nothing, just picked himself up a moment later and stumbled out of the way while I stood there frozen by a tangle of emotions. I came to my senses in time to catch Gareth as he passed out, very quietly and unobtrusively, away from all the hubbub around the King.

He recovered quickly, as boys are wont to do, and never once asked to be recognized for what he had done. In fact, when Arthur formally thanked him he was genuinely surprised, though he hid it well in the moment. Later, when i asked him about it, he told me he had just been ‘doing his job.’ “He’s the King,” Gareth said, “I’m a squire. He’s important and I’m not. I’m _supposed_ to protect him, that’s how it works.”

I smiled to myself in the darkness, watching the firelight play off my lover’s golden hair. Yes, that was the moment I had started to love him, though I certainly hadn’t realized it then. There was so much goodness in him, such simple unselfish loyalty. And bravery. Gareth may have been well-trained and very talented, but it still took guts to confront an armed man twice his age with nothing but his bare hands. And time and again in the following years he had done similar things. That moment though...I shook my head a little, wondering how I had not realized at the time how much I cared about him.

As to when I had started to desire him...that was much simpler. I remembered the moment clearly, how that I was thinking back. It was not very long after Gareth had been knighted, less than a year, I was fairly sure. We were sparring late one evening, alone in the salle and enjoying yourselves thoroughly. We had both worked out properly earlier and been put through our paces by Bedwyr, who often acted as an armsmaster for the older boys and liked to extend that to fellow knights. I disarmed Gareth with a rather neat move I had recently invented, but my erstwhile squire didn’t surrender and we wound up wrestling. We were still having fun, laughing and teasing good-naturedly. Very suddenly, I found myself with my hands pinned and Gareth’s knee pressed into my back. With no warning, my breath caught in my throat and my stomach turned pleasantly, _need_ surging through my body at the realization that I was face-down on the floor and at Gareth’s mercy. I had been totally shocked and more than a little disturbed by my unexpected reaction. I snapped at Gareth to let me up, muttered something to the effect of “That’s enough!” and left very quickly. Then I spent the rest of the night feeling guilty, annoyed at myself, upset, and generally confused and miserable.

I avoided Gareth for several days thereafter and finally Arthur insisted that I tell him what the matter was. I did so grudgingly, and when I was done he just laughed at me. King or not, he nearly lost his head for that. Perhaps if I had realized then that I loved Gareth I would have reacted better, but as it was I had worked myself into quite a state and didn’t appreciate my friend making light of it. But Arthur explained, of course. Or rather, he reminded me that he had been younger than Gareth when we were briefly together and, moreover, that nothing bad had come of that so why was I so worried about this? I couldn’t articulate a good answer at the time, so we both dropped it and after a few more days I got over it and of course Gareth never said a word about my odd behavior.

It was about a year later that I realized I loved him, which was another real shock since I’d spent nearly the last twenty years thinking that I was in love with Arthur. Strangely, the moment that I realized - or admitted to myself - that I loved Gareth was nothing like the incident when he was fourteen that had set my feelings for him in motion. Arthur and I were in his study after dinner one night, drinking and relaxing. Inevitably, Arthur began talking about Guinevere. They had been married for fifteen years and were still very much in love. Even I thought it was adorable, and since I adored Guinevere as a sort of feisty younger sister I didn’t mind listening to Arthur go on about her, though I’d heard most of it many times before. That night, however, he said something new. “Being around her just...just makes me feel happy. It feels good to be in the same room, even when we can’t speak. And if she is happy, then everything is right with the world.” I was so stunned that you might as well have hit me with a brick, because Arthur had described exactly how I felt about Gareth. Somehow, Arthur didn’t notice my reaction and I never told him.

I had barely slept that night, mulling over what I had realized. On some level I was happy, but mostly I was confused as hell. I knew that I cared deeply about Arthur and was in fact sure that I loved him. At the same time, I knew that I didn’t feel about him the way I felt about Gareth. (Much later, I came to the conclusion that I loved Arthur first as a king and then as a man and of course my love and duty to my king took precedence, but with Gareth I could simply love). Then, of course, I fretted myself to distraction because I was _sure_ Gareth would hate me if he found out. He _couldn’t_ find out. What would he think of me? Once again I had moped for several days and once again Gareth his mouth shut about it and worked even harder than usual. I was so unspeakably glad that we had finally worked it out with each other. I still cringed to think how poor Gareth must have felt all those years. He had fallen for me so young and had no reason to believe anything good would ever come of it. But mostly, despite everything, I felt more content now than I had since those first months after Arthur was crowned king when, briefly, everything seemed to be right with the world.  

I was gently pulled from my thoughts by the realization that moonlight fell on my face. I glanced up to thee that great white orb fully above the trees. I waited a short while longer, then woke Gawain for the second watch. He took my place against the tree, huddled in his cloak, for the night was growing colder. I stretched, wincing a little; my muscles were stiff and sore from sitting on the cold, damp ground for so long. Once again, I wondered briefly what Gareth saw in me - in someone my age - but quickly put it out of my mind. Gareth hated when I brought that up and the last thing  I wanted to do was make him unhappy or try his patience. I had resolved to enjoy whatever time I had with him, and given that there was, in my opinion, an even chance that one of us wouldn’t survive this mission, that wasn’t a particularly difficult proposition to follow through on. With that happy thought, I lay down beside Gareth and pulled him close.  A few moments later, I was sound asleep.

*  *  *  *

I slept lightly the first part of the night, disturbed by the cold and inklings of bad dreams hovering at the edge of my perception. Distantly, I was aware of the watch changing, then, quite suddenly, I felt Lancelot’s strong arms around me. He lay behind me and wore a heavy cloak that he pulled over both of us. Suddenly happy, I snuggled into his embrace and fell immediately into a deep, restful sleep.

I woke to the smell of frying meat and the warmth of sun on my face. I stretched, yawned, and opened my eyes. I could still feel Lancelot’s body against my back, and judging from his breathing he was still soundly asleep.

“Well, well, look who finally woke up.” I started and bit back a curse. Lynette came into my line of sight and smiled down at me. “You two are so adorable that Gawain and I decided to let you be. I took third watch and started breakfast; it’ll be done soon. Gawain is watching the road for bors. He decided that since we were sort of waiting for him anyway we might as well wait properly, rest up, and talk some more about Lyonesse.” She smiled sweetly and added, “Oh, and did I mention that you two are adorable?”

“You did, in fact,” I grumbled good-naturedly, sitting up and thereby waking Lance. He blinked owlishly and looked around.

“What the...”

“Gawain decided that we might as well wait for Bors,” I said quickly in response to the half-iterated question.

Lancelot blinked again, then nodded and muttered darkly, “Good idea. God knows what we’re walking into.”

“I’m sure that’s what Gawain was thinking,” I agreed, hoping Lynette would refrain from adding anything. Of course that hope was in vain.

She grinned down at Lancelot. “That, and you’re adorable.” And then she returned to whatever it was she was cooking, leaving Lancelot sitting in stunned silence. After several long moments I couldn’t help myself any more and giggled. Lancelot Looked at me.

“Excuse me?” he asked pointedly.

“She meant _us_ , silly.” I told him, still chuckling. “They left us alone because, according to her, we’re ‘adorable.’ She even took third watch, which is why breakfast is almost ready.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” Lancelot muttered in a disgruntled tone, but sitting there, ruffled from sleep and about as relaxed as he ever got, he really wasn’t helping his case any. I told Lance as much and had to quickly duck a none-too-gentle swipe at my head. Laughing and teasing I scrambled away. Lynette just shook her head at us both in mock disgust.

In short, the day got off to a wonderful start. Breakfast was delicious, although I didn’t ask where a princess had learned to cook over a fire, and Lancelot and I continued teasing each other to pass the time. Lynette joined in and proved that she was not above encouraging us, switching sides shamelessly as the mood struck her. All the fun ended, however, when Gawain arrived about noon, Bors in tow. The other Knight was pale, filthy, stumbling with exhaustion, and generally looked like he had ridded to camelot and back with barely a pause. As it turned out, that was exactly what had happened.

Bors all but collapsed on the ground by the fire and gratefully accepted a wineskin from Lynette. After taking a long drink, he looked around at us and said simply, “The Queen’s been kidnapped.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Cliffhanger. Sorry about that (not really). HOWEVER, I have started typing the next chapter so baring some unforeseen issue I should have the next bit posted soon! I won't leave you hanging too long, promise. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	6. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our travelers devise a risky plan to rescue the Queen, but when bandits attack tragedy befalls the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we get to meet Lancelot's grandmother in this one, because a little deus ex machina is sometimes in order.
> 
> Oh, and as a reminder, the Morrigan is the Goddess of Death in old British folklore. I think that was mentioned very early in the story, but it becomes relevant again here...

The story came out haltingly, and the details were disturbingly scarce. Apparently she had been out riding, guarded by about half a dozen soldiers and accompanied by Cei. they were ambushed by some indeterminate but large number of masked me. The soldiers were killed, Cei badly wounded, and the Queen taken. It was several hours before anyone in Camelot realized what had happened, but as soon as they had dogs were sent out. The trail was lost far more quickly than was natural, though Arthur’s half-sister Morgan, an enchantress in her own right, was able to confirm that the trail had been obscured with magic, and that it was heading in the general direction of Lyonesse. At the point late yesterday evening that this was being discussed, Bors had arrived to shed a small amount of light on the situation. This led to the general consensus, backed by Morgan, that the Queen was being taken to Lyonesse - probably at a much faster pace than we were travelling.

Most of the Council, of course, was all for invading Lyonesse, but Bors, showing some sense, had convinced the King to allow us to attempt a rescue first rather than risk war with Saxons. Arthur, of course, was utterly distraught, but he was good at separating himself as a man and a husband from his duties as King, so he was still making good decisions. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t wait forever. We had less than a week before Arthur would do something which, in all likelihood, would reignite the war with the Saxons. No pressure or anything. 

The only bright side is that we were all so focused on our suddenly very urgent mission that Bors forgot to hate Lance and I. Oh, he still didn’t like it, but it was as though he had suddenly remembered that we were two of the greatest warriors in the country - this is not bragging, I don’t brag, this is simply an accepted fact - and in this situation Bors wanted men like us at his side regardless of the baggage we brought. 

That afternoon we ate a hot lunch, probably the last good meal we would have for days, allowed Bors to rest up a bit, then planned out our strategy. It was a given that we would have to use stealth, for if this sorcerer was paranoid and holding the Queen then he almost certainly wouldn’t take kindly to guests. However Lynette immediately pointed out a problem with that. “Lyonesse Castle sits on an island in a river. It is only accessible by a single drawbridge and the land around it is farm country...I doubt we can sneak up to it.”

“Pretend for a moment that we have no limits on resources and so on,” said Gawain slowly, clearly trying to puzzle this out himself, “How would you suggest we get in.” 

“Get someone inside the lower the bridge,” replied Lynette sarcastically. 

And just like that an idea sprang fully formed into my mind. “That’s not such an unworkable idea, really.” Everyone glanced at me in confusion - except Lance, who gave me a look of utter horror. He knew me well enough to know what I was about to suggest. “No one outside of Camelot knows me. I can play the hapless traveller, arrive at the castle late in the evening...” I trailed off because everyone was staring at me. Or rather, Gawain was staring, Lynette looked vaguely amused, Bors’ expression actually bordered on respectful, and Lancelot was glaring murderously. “Well I’m sorry,” I said defensively, “Does someone have a better idea?” 

“The gateroom will be guarded,” said Lynette simply, which was a valid point. 

“How many guards usually?”

“Three or four I think. No more than six certainly. We haven’t got that many men.” 

“I can handle that.”

“Won't it raise an alarm? I thought we couldn’t risk that...”

“He can manage it quietly,” said Lancelot in a voice barely above a whisper. He would know. He had taught me how. At the time I hadn’t understood why he would give me a skill which he clearly despised, but now that I knew that he had long intended that I take his place it made sense. Everyone knew that Sir Lancelot was far more than the King’s bodyguard or a champion to stand in for him in tournaments, but no one liked to discuss such distasteful things as assassination so it was never openly acknowledged at court. 

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Gawain said, “Well, it’s a feasible plan, but we have to decide if it is a risk we want to take. From what Lynette has said, this sorcerer is erratic. Are we willing to let Gareth walk into that situation?”

“What other options are there?” asked Lynette softly.

“Not many,” replied Gawain honestly, “Without scouting the castle we don’t know where their weaknesses are, and we’re damnably short on time. Objectively speaking, I’m inclined to support Gareth’s idea...”

To my intense surprise, Lancelot didn’t object, so after a pause I spoke up, “Well then, for the moment at least let’s run with that and get on the road. We can’t afford to waste time and we can poke holes in the idea while on horseback as easily as we can sitting here.” 

*  *  *  *

We rode at a steady pace the rest of the afternoon and regardless of Bors’ previous attitude I felt bad for him. He must have been absolutely miserable (I knew from experience what three days of no sleep and long hours in the saddle riding hard did to a body), but he didn’t make a sound. I was miserable too, though for a very different reason. I could hardly stand the thought of Gareth walking into such danger. If anything happened to him...the very idea made me feel physically ill. I didn’t even try to convince myself that everything would be fine because I knew doing so would be a waste of time - it wouldn’t work. Instead, I contented - and distracted - myself with watching him ride. He was a natural on a horse, which was particularly impressive since he hadn’t ridden until he was eight. 

By silent agreement we rode on well past dusk, still pushing hard. We were well and truly in the forest now, deep in bandit country, so Bors had taken up a position at the back as rear guard and all four of us knights were on high alert. If not for our very real sense of urgency I would have been thoroughly against riding through a hostile forest at night. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and tied my stomach in knots. I kept one of my short swords drawn and in my hand at all times, ad twitched at every shadow and imagined movement. To my vague amusement, Gareth was in a similar state. He certainly had the makings of a King’s Champion. I  _ had  _ to make sure that he came out of his alive and well. I would give anything for that, even if I didn’t love him, because he deserved it and the country needed a younger Champion - or soon would.  _ The kingdom needs the King more _ , a nagging little voice in my head reminded me,  _ and if we lose the Queen we lose Arthur as well _ . I suppressed a groan. If it was a choice between a friend and my king I would choose my king’s safety every time. Unfortunately, Gareth wasn’t just a friend, and I wasn’t sure that I could bring myself to risk both Arthur’s future safety and my heart in one fell swoop. I also wasn’t sure that I had any choice. 

The moon rose above the trees, lighting the road slightly even though it was nearing midnight. I was about to suggest that we take this opportunity to stop and rest when a motion in front of us caught my eye. A moment later, an arrow whistled past my ear. I ducked, lying low across my horse’s neck, and cried out a warning. Gawain pulled up his mount and drew his sword, moving to protect Lynette even as Gareth and I engaged the first masked attackers. 

The skirmish was vicious but short. I lost myself in the fight, relishing the escape from day-to-day cares and the chance to take out my fears and frustrations on men that were actively trying to hurt me. It felt good. It felt  _ wonderful _ . Later, when it was all over and people were safe I would be disgusted at my battle-induced blood-thirstiness, but at that moment I was enjoying myself immensely. 

Almost before I knew it, our attackers were dead and I was standing in the road, breathing heavily and covered with blood. I didn’t remember dismounting, but that didn’t particularly surprise me. If I fought in earnest and Arthur wasn’t around to ground me I would lose myself completely. It was not entirely pleasant, but I was fairly used to it. 

I glanced over to see how Gareth was just as he slid gracefully from the saddle, expression too calm. He was like Arthur in that his version of battle-madness was an extreme calm and coldness. In a way, it made him a more deadly and more frightening opponent than I. It certainly made Arthur a wonderful battlefield leader, if somewhat terrifying. I nodded to Gareth, telling him that I was alright, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were still clear and distant and his gaze was focused over my shoulder. For a single, precious moment I thought that he just hadn’t come back to himself yet and I actually smiled because he looked so perfect, like and exquisite sculpture of a warrior god - moonlight gleamed off his hair, turning it to silver and casting his face into stark, beautiful relief. 

The moment was shattered when he leapt forward and grabbed Gawain’s arm, pulling the Prince to one side at the same instant as the soft twang of a bowstring sang through the night. Gareth’s body jerked slightly and he fell to his knees. Slowly, too slowly, my mind put the pieces together and I felt my sword slip numbly from my hand. I stumbled to his side, wrapping my arms around him and laying him back gently, cradling his suddenly frail body against my living strength. I stroked his cheek tenderly, watching as his eyelids fluttered erratically. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the arrow protruding from beneath his ribs, couldn’t bear to see the way he clutched weakly at the shaft. 

I was distantly aware of Lynette clining to Gawain as he stood watching in silent horror, and of Bors returning from the trees, the archer’s blood on his hands, but I had eyes only for Gareth, my wonderful, perfect Gareth who held my heart and who now lay dying in my arms. I hurt, I actually  _ hurt _ , deep in my chest, as though something was being torn away from me. Belatedly, I realized that I was crying, the tears falling on Gareth’s angelic face. I wiped them away tenderly with trembling fingers. 

“I can’t lose you,” I whispered, my lips moving almost of their own accord.

Gareth looked up at me then, his eyes distant and glazed, but sad. “I’m so sorry, Lan...” he whispered, and those words wounded me more deeply than any blade ever had, “I’m so sorry. I had to...”

“I know,” I told him, stroking his hair gently and dredging up a small smile, “I understand, love, I understand...” And I did. It was the nature of men like Gareth and I to protect those who needed protecting, without ever a thought for ourselves, especially when it came to men like Arthur and Gawain. The fact that Gareth had still been lost in his battle madness had only made the decision that much easier for him. His eyes drifted closed and I held him close and tried to breathe around the terrible pain that came with the knowledge that I was losing him. 

Slowly, I became aware of a strange silence that descended over the forest and muted the gasps of my companions. I raised my head. Before me stood a woman of surpassing but harsh beauty. Her hair and eyes were so black that they seemed to suck in what little light there was, and her perfect features were so sharp I wondered if you could cut yourself on them. She wore a dress of red and a cloak of raven’s feathers. Most striking of all, however, was that she was smiling very slightly, a gentle, maternal smile totally at odds with the rest of her appearance. 

“It is so rare to see a child of mine shed tears...Rarer still for one to have the endless capacity for love that you do, Lancelot.”

I swallowed hard and tried to gather my wits. Failing, I just asked helplessly, “ _ Grandmother? _ ” 

Gawain made a sound surprisingly like a squeak and Bors choked, but I had eyes only for the Morrigan. “You...you came to take him?” I whispered brokenly. 

She shook her head, kneeling down on Gareth’s other side. “I have so few children,” she said softly, “And I have always liked you; you have gone along with you destiny with so little complaint, and I think you deserve some happiness - even if there are those who disagree with me.” This last was muttered almost to quietly for me to hear, and I ignored it. I was too focused on the rest of what she was implying. With another smile, the Morrigan said, “Yes, Lancelot, I can help him, but it is not easy.” 

“Please,” I breathed, “I’ll do anything...” I knew what that could mean, and I didn’t care, I had to try to save Gareth. 

The Morrigan nodded slowly and didn’t question me, she just explained. “I can easily fix the physical damage to his body. The trouble is...Oh how do I say this in a way that you will understand? His soul must be repaired as well if we are to stop the life leaking from him. The only way to do that is...well, to patch the hole, more or less. I need a piece of your soul, Lancelot.”

I swallowed hard. That was not what I had been expecting. I had been expecting a trade, a deal, that was how these things usually worked. I had never heard of a fae simply offering to help...Then again, I was family and what she was asking of me was no small thing. Still, I didn’t have to think about it. “Whatever you have to do,” I told her. I didn’t even think to ask what the repercussions would be, if I would survive such a thing or what I would be like afterwards. To my grandmother’s credit, she didn’t delay or dally. She just reached out and laid one palm on my forehead and one on Gareth’s. He stirred briefly, struggling to regain consciousness. I hushed him gently. A moment later there was a strange pulling feeling in my chest and I closed my eyes. It hurt, but not like anything I had ever felt before. It was like a deep ache that spread through my body. My vision blurred and somewhere in my head something  _ snapped _ . I gasped. The pain was gone, but in it’s place was emptiness. It was worse than the feeling I got when I thought about losing Gareth, but similar. There was suddenly a space in my chest and I knew instinctively that it would not go away. I felt empty and weak and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. 

“He will live,” said the Morrigan, “But you both must rest, at least for a day. And now,” she paused and rose gracefully to her feet, “I must go. Good luck.” Then the Morrigan stepped back into the shadow of the trees and was gone.

I stayed where I was, holding Gareth and trying to learn how to breathe again, until Gawain appeared in my line of vision. “You look like death, Lance,” he said seriously, “Let me take care of Gareth for a time. You need to rest.” Realizing that I was barely functioning, Gawain didn’t wait for me to respond, he just took Gareth gently from my arms. It took me a long moment to remember how to make my legs work, by once I did I got unsteadily to my feet. Somehow, I managed to get my bedroll off my horse and collapsed somewhere out from underfoot. Wrapped in my blankets, I curled into a little ball around the cold, hollow space in my chest. It hurt, but there was no pain. I was utterly drained, and yet I couldn’t sleep. 

In the end, I dozed until, wonder of wonders, Gareth came and laid down beside me. He held me close, which made me feel a little better, and didn’t speak for a long time. 

“She told me what you did,” he said finally. I didn’t have to ask who  _ she _ was. 

“You spoke to her?” I was numb, my mind overwhelmed by everything that had happened and on the verge of shutting down entirely to protect itself. I really hoped I didn’t pass out quite yet. 

“Yes. We talked for quite a while, actually.” 

“I thought she left...”

“She couldn’t be here physically any longer, it was drawing too much attention - whatever that means - but we had a long chat while I slept. There are some things you need to know...” I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to lie here in Gareth’s arms and stop thinking a while. But I knew that could not be so, for our first goal still had to be to rescue the Queen, regardless of all else. So I kept my mouth shut and Gareth continued. “We’re...bound together now, you and I. She said...she said that if I die, so will you, but not the other way around.” That was actually a relief, though of course I didn’t say so. “She also said a lot of things that I didn’t understand. I do know that she told me that we will share some emotions and so on. And that you will be very tired for a couple of days but that we can’t afford to delay...” He shifted and held me closer. I got a little warmer inside. “The last thing she told me was, ah..to explore a bit.” 

“That sounds like her,” I grumbled, suddenly very, very much out of patience with the world. 

Gareth seemed to pick up on my mood, for he pressed his face into my shoulder and whispered, “I am so sorry about this. I...I can’t believe that you would give up so much for me.”

“I couldn’t lose you,” I said simply, and never in my life had I been as sincere as I was in that moment. “I just couldn’t lose you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? I feel like an apology is necessary for what I've done to Lance and Gareth...I do make it up to them though (eventually)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	7. A Brave New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Gareth begin to try to come to terms with the events of the night before. And, of course, the Queen still needs rescuing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post a bit more regularly. Unfortunately I'm nearly at the end of stuff that I've already written, and the end of the semester is around the corner. Then again, given things going on in real life I'm going to need a good distraction so hopefully I can use this story as one : )

_ I couldn’t lose you _ . That phrase rang in my ears as I held Lancelot’s sleeping body close. He had sounded so sincere, so  _ sure _ , but I was deeply afraid that, if we both survived the week, he would grow to resent me for taking so much from him. I could not imagine what it must feel like to lose something so essential to who you were, but I could tell that Lance was different - he felt more fragile than I did, and I had just come within a heartbeat of death. That did not give me great hope for the rest of our mission. I  _ knew  _ I was weak and sore and probably would be for days; I  _ was  _ still wounded albeit not so badly as to prevent me from riding or fighting in a pinch (which this certainly was). And if Lancelot  _ felt _ weak in my arms then I hated to think on his actual condition. That meant we had to rescue the Queen from a mad sorcerer with only Gawain in good condition, and he was the one that we could least afford to risk. 

I eventually drifted off to sleep again, considering how I would approach the seemingly impossible task of convincing Lancelot to allow me to walk into that castle. He had been reluctant before I assumed that now he would oppose the idea entirely. 

We rode out at noon the following day for we could not afford to delay any longer. I was in pain, but not enough to bother me much, and Lance looked like he had been dragged through the seven hells. He was pale and appeared not to have slept, though I knew otherwise. He slumped in his saddle, despondent, and hadn’t spoken a word since he got up. But it was his eyes that concerned me, for they were empty, with no sign of my beloved Knight behind the blank exterior. If in saving me Lance had lost himself...I shuddered. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what I would do, I did. I would be King’s Champion and protect the royal family and my country, but I would never be truly happy and that scared me. I had just found happiness, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing it so soon. Worse, I would live with the guilt that the Kingdom had lost its greatest knight and the King his greatest friend because of me. 

As awful as Lance looked, I didn’t put off broaching the subject of our plan, suspecting that it might require the whole day to win him around and knowing that we would arrive in Lyonesse by dusk. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest we would attempt to save the Queen. “It seems to me,” I began somewhat cautiously, “That regardless of the events of last night we must go ahead with our plan to rescue Guin.” I used her nickname intentionally, hoping to see some flicker of something in Lancelot’s eyes, but I was disappointed. 

“I agree,” said Gawain quickly, “It remains our best chance and a wounded travelled is far less threatening than a healthy warrior. Gareth’s misfortune may yet be an advantage to us.” 

“I don’t like it.” Strangely it was  _ Bors _ who spoke up, not Lance. 

I opened my mouth to respond but before I could, Lancelot jumped in, his voice quiet but firm, “It’s the best option, Bors, we’ve been over this already.”

Gawain and I traded shocked looks. Lancelot was supporting the plan? I actually wondered briefly if he had hit his head when I wasn’t watching. Wordlessly, I dropped back to ride beside him and by silent agreement we allowed the others to get a little ahead. “Gawain thanked me this morning. As did Lynette,” I said by way of beginning a conversation. 

“I’m sure he did. You saved his life. And never mind that it comes naturally to you.”

He sounded proud, not annoyed, so I moved on. 

“I suppose it does, in a way. Like you, I’m inclined to protect people who need it. Like the Queen.”

“Yes,” he agreed simply, still not looking at me.

I decided to cut straight to the point. “I expected you to be rather resistant to this plan. Especially now.”

Finally, he met my eyes, but my knight was still not there. “You’re an adult, Gareth, you have been for a long time. You’re also...if you’re to be King’s Champion I can’t keep trying to shelter you..” Well. Ostensibly that was what I wanted, but...

I swallowed hard and asked a truly terrifying question. “Are you worried about me?” 

_ Now _ he looked at me, actually looked  _ at  _ me, not through me as he had been doing, and his beautiful eyes were haunted. “Of course I’m worried about you, but...What you did last night...You didn’t even think about it, Gareth, saving him was purely an instinct for you...If I had any doubts that you were  _ born _ to this job, this life, they’re gone now. I can’t ignore that and I can’t keep you from doing what comes naturally to you because I  _ know _ that if there is one thing you would choose over me it is that. I know because the same is true of me. I would hate myself for it, but I wouldn’t really have a choice; it’s who I am.”

I was quiet for several moments, processing all of that borderline incoherence, then I nodded slowly. “I...I see what you mean...”  _ But I wish you would still argue with me about it _ . I kept this last to myself, figuring neither of us were in any state for that discussion just then. So I tried to redirect our conversation slightly. “I’ll be alright, don’t worry. You trained me well and i will be careful. Right now it’s you I’m worried about it. We still don’t know the...side effects of what you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll be alright.”

I snorted impolitely to demonstrate what I thought of  _ that _ . “How do you feel, Lance?” He gave me a disbelieving look, but I pressed. “I’m serious. Physically, do you feel any different?”

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he replied, “You need to focus on the Queen and this suicide mission, not be worrying about me.”

I reached over and laid my hand on his thigh, as much comfort as I could offer while we were riding. However I forgot the reassuring words I was about to speak when a strange sensation rippled through me. I glanced sharply at Lancelot, but he seemed not to be aware of it.  _ I must have been too tired last night to notice _ , I thought wonderingly. It was an incredible feeling, warm and comforting. I nudged my mount closer to his own, grasped his hand, and pulled the glove off so I could touch his bare skin. It was pure institution, but it seemed it was correct, for Lancelot started violently and gaped at me. I felt shock, a flash of horror, then cautious hope thrum along the newfound connection. “Can you feel what I’m feeling? My emotions, I mean.” I whispered, barely coherent. Lancelot merely shook his head, but I felt his pain.

“There’s...something, but not that,” he whispered with a shake of his head. I could feel his distress. 

“Don’t worry,” I said, “We’ll sort this out.”

“If we both live long enough,” Lancelot grumbled.

I smacked him none too gently. “Quit being such a fucking pessimist,” I admonished.

“I’m a bad influence on you. You never used to swear.”

“As if!” I laughed, “I just never swore around you. I was trying too hard to impress you.”

“Well, you succeeded. Thoroughly.”

I asked suddenly, “Do you have any idea how many of the other squires  _ hated _ me because I served you?”

“Not really...I...” he glanced down, embarrassed, “I never gave it much thought, I suppose.”

“You were occupied with other things,” I told him. I didn’t actually mind that he hadn’t thought about it, I was just trying to make conversation about anything other than our impending mission or the strange turn our relationship had taken. I was beginning to understand suddenly why Lancelot disliked his fae heritage so intensely, and why Gawain pretended that he wasn’t related to an enchantress. Magical people seemed uniquely talented at fucking things up. 

That evening, at Lynette’s suggestion, we stopped just as the sun was dipping below the trees. She assured us that we were only an hour’s ride from the castle, which would allow me to go on alone the following day without ever being too far from my companions, while keeping them far enough away that hopefully they would not be spotted. Then again, the way this journey was going...I ignored the pessimistic voice in the back of my mind and went to help Lance hunt. I was glad that we had one more night together before I walked into gods-only-knew-what in Lyonesse Castle. I needed to get him to talk to me and I needed to figure out just what I could do for him to ease his suffering; I could feel it, like a niggling thought or distant emotion. It was a unique sort of torture to understand on such an intimate, personal level that my love was hurting and to know that it was because of me. 

Once I was sure that we were out of sight of the camp, I touched Lancelot’s arm lightly, making him pause and turn toward me slightly. I smiled very gently. I had spent most of the afternoon trying to work out how to handle this and I knew for certain that if I told Lance that I could feel his pain it would only make him feel guilty and push him closer to the edge than he already was, so I avoided the subject entirely. “I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow night.” 

“Having second thoughts?” he asked wearily. 

“No, and I’m entirely confident that I can manage it, but...well, since you’re here and you  _ are  _ mentor I thought maybe it would be good to talk about it. If you don’t mind...” It was true, all of it, though I Lance hadn’t been so obviously in need of some normalcy I probably wouldn’t have brought it up. I wanted him to know that I was capable and confident in my abilities, but I needed him to feel like I still needed him and this seemed like a good way to begin that. 

Lancelot licked his lips uncertainly and, replied softly, “I have great confidence in you, Gareth, and personally I don’t think you-” his voice caught but he pushed on, “- that you need anything from me.”

_ Oh fuck it _ . “Of course I need you!” He opened his mouth to respond in the negative, but I cut him off. “No buts,” I snapped, taking a fistful of his shirt and forcibly sitting him down on a nearby log and standing over him. He looked up at me in wide-eyed surprise. “I. Need. You. I  _ love _ you. If nothing else can you please just  _ accept that _ ?”

“I...I...” he stammered, staring up at me. I was looming over him in the same fashion I had seen him threaten a petulant squire or blustering noble, and I think that surprised him more than anything. Unlike Lance, I am not an inherently intimidating person. In fact, I will go out of my way to charm someone rather than intimidate them, but I knew Lancelot did not generally respond well to emotion or tenderness, so I was trying something different. 

“Gareth, I...”

“Do you know that I love you?” I demanded. He swallowed and I gave him a Look that I had learned from Guinevere. He paused. “Do you know?” I repeated more gently, and finally lancelot nodded. Then, to my utter shock, he began to cry quietly. I fell to my knees in front of him and pulled him to me, murmuring comforting in his ear. 

“I’m sorry,” said Lancelot softly, “I’m so sorry, Gareth. I do know you love me and...” I held my breath and prayed that I hadn’t unintentionally hurt him more, “I’m sorry you had to...to do that, to get angry with me...”

“I wasn’t angry with you, not really,” I assured him, “I just...I  _ have _ to know that you believe that I love you and I haven’t seemed to be able to convince you any other way.”

To my surprise, he laughed dryly. “Don’t...don’t worry. I do believe you. And...” Suddenly, he kissed me very passionately. “You should get angry more often,” he breathed in my ear, “It’s very attractive.” I laughed. That was not a reaction that I had expected, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain! 

Ignoring the job of hunting for the time being, we spent a few blissful (and very much needed) minutes enjoying each other’s company. It was only then, in Lancelot’s terrible tenderness toward me, that I got a glimpse of how deeply he feared losing me to this mission. 

Lance’s hands slid under my doublet and shirt, finding the bare skin of my back. He clung to me like he was afraid I was about to disappear and kissed me - not roughly as I would have expected, but as gently as the first time we had ever done this. It was a chaste kiss at first too, but then his tongue probed gently at my lips and I willingly opened my mouth. The kiss deepened but remained gentle (though passionate), a careful exploration as if we were relearning each other’s bodies. I fumbled for the laces on Lance’s heavy doublet, wanting to touch him properly. 

We broke apart just long enough to shed our outer layers, then kissed again, hands exploring freely as we did. He was still sitting on the log with me kneeling before him, and it made for a surprisingly good angle as Lance cradled my head in his hands and touched me like I was made of glass. “Want more,” I breathed into his lips, “Need you.” 

Neither of us were in any sort of shape to try to make proper sex work in the middle of a forest, but we made due as we had that first night when Lance was wounded and we were just discovering this thing between us. I unlaced Lance’s breeches with uncoordinated fingers, planning to suck him off because we certainly both enjoyed that. But he stopped me. “Not today,” he murmured, shifting to kneel before me and working his hand past the laces of my own garments. “Need to hold you.” 

I squirmed most of the way out of my pants, quite a feat when Lance wouldn't take his hands off me for even an instant. But I was more than content to go along with whatever he wanted. He was much needier than I was used to - it showed more in his eyes than in his actions, but I knew him well enough to see it. Lance pulled me close so we were pressed together knee to shoulder, then reached between us and took both of our hard cocks in his hand. I groaned and let my head fall forward, pressing my face into the side of his neck and inhaling the wonderful scent that was just  _ Lance.  _ He held me even tighter and set about stroking us both off. It felt even better than usual, presumably due to my newfound connection with Lance, but I put complicated fae magic out of my head and focused on just enjoying the sensation. 

I came hard and suddenly, caught off guard by the abrupt rush of pleasure, and slumped limp against Lancelot’s body. He maneuvered us around so that he was sitting with his back to the tree trunk and I was in his lap, then ran his (clean) hand through my hair, murmuring, “I've got you, little one. I'm here...you're safe...I've got you…” I think he was trying to convince himself as much as me, but I liked hearing it nonetheless. Nearly dying was a scary thing, and I had been so worried about Lance that I barely even begun to process what had happened to me. And I doubted I would have time before I had to infiltrated Lyonesse Castle to rescue the Queen…I think I actually whimpered slightly as I snuggled more firmly into Lance’s hold. 

We stayed like that for a few minutes, Lance stroking my face and back tenderly, then we recalled ourselves to the task at hand enough to get unsteadily to our feet. Lance quickly did up the laces on his own clothes before more or less redressing me, hands terribly gentle and loving the whole while. It was sweet, but it also made me ache with the knowledge of how devastated Lance had been at the thought of losing me and how frightened he was that he still might in the coming days. On a whim I leaned up and kissed him once more, a hard, quick press of lips against lips. He grabbed at my doublet and held me to him for a final moment, then we straightened our clothes and set about finding some game for dinner. 

We hardly spoke again, but simply enjoyed each other’s company, and by the time we returned to camp with several pheasants we were both calmer. Lancelot stopped me just before we approached the clearing we had stopped in. He stood very close to me and had a strange expression on his face. “What is it, Lan?” I asked worriedly. 

“I...I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this...” He wouldn’t look at me but was instead staring at his feet. I clamped down on the painful emotions which blossomed in my chest and made an encouraging noise. He continued, “Before, when we were...” I nodded, suppressing a smile. He was still so shy about some things. “I...I could...You said you can feel my emotions a little when we touch?”

“Yes...”

“Well, I...I still can’t, Gareth, but when you touch me I...I don’t feel empty anymore. I wasn’t sure that I should tell you because I didn’t want you to feel guilty, but...”

“I’m glad you told me, Lance,” I assured him while making a mental note that regardless of Bors’ prejudices I would make sure Lancelot didn’t, as he put it, feel empty that evening. I loved this man so dearly; I would crawl to the ends of the earth for him, holding his hand would not exactly be a trial.

* * * *

I was terribly glad that I had gotten to spend time with Gareth. He was rapidly becoming my anchor and what with everything else going on and the gaping hole in my chest I needed his strength desperately. 

When we returned to camp, Lynette, as usual, had a glowing smile for us and a word of praise for our “hunting prowess.” She made no comment when Gareth sat beside me and took my hand. I’ll admit that I was a little startled, but it felt so good that I just accepted it. 

When Bors returned, I was fully prepared to find something to keep myself busy, but Gareth didn’t -  _ wouldn’t  _ \- let go of my hand, and gave Bors such a warning look that the other knight simply made a comment about the weather and took himself off to the other side of the camp to tend his armor and weapons. Gawain and Lynette chatted brightly to keep the evening from becoming awkward, but nonetheless a weight settled over the whole party. Though none of us wanted to admit it, one of our own was going to walk into terrible danger tomorrow. Our whole world could change depending upon the outcome. If worst came to worst, Gareth, the Queen, and I would all be dead, Arthur would be devastated, and and the kingdom would be at war with the Saxons yet again. I said a quiet prayer against that eventuality and squeezed Gareth’s fingers gently. As worried as I was for him, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else going into that castle (save perhaps myself). I trusted him and his skills completely. 

We none of us wanted to go to sleep that night, so we stayed up and clung to each other’s company, tensions and all. When we did finally give in to the inevitable and seek our beds, Gareth said nothing but simply laid down beside me and snuggled close. I wrapped my arms around him and held him to my chest, glaring at Bors until he quietly took his bedroll to the other side of the clearing without a word. Tonight at least I didn’t give a damn what he thought. I had spent my whole life thinking that I would never truly love. Now, only a few months after I had found my happiness with Gareth I had to be willing to give him up. I had already given myself to him in a very real and frightening way - he quite literally held a piece of my soul - and now I had to trust him completely. I didn’t do trust well, especially not when my heart sat vulnerably in his hands. I shivered in distress. I had promised to trust him and I was trying, I really was, but I was also terrified - not of dying, but of all of the horrible things that could happen to Gareth and others that I cared about. 

“Shh, love” whispered Gareth in my ear, stroking my hair calmingly. Obviously he had sensed my distress. “It’ll be alright...” I clung to him, relishing the feel of his young body, so strong and  _ alive _ . “Sleep now, love,” he murmured, and I did.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	8. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth plans his part in the Queen's rescue, and Lancelot wonders at just how strange is relationship with Gareth actually is (AKA this chapter should probably be called "What the hell kind of a relationship do we have anyway?" and involves some good old fashioned sexual tension and cuddles in the midst of everything else).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I need to put a warning here. I'm going to call it "consensual relationship violence." And no, that doesn't really make sense; let's just say that everything that happens here is totally consensual (and not intentionally kinky). But, with that said, there is a fairly detailed scene in which one member of a relationship physically hurts the other, so if that isn't something you want to read, skip to the end notes and I will put a chapter summary there. OR, read the chapter and just avoid the problematic bit, it's obvious when it's coming.
> 
> With that said, one other note: With this chapter we are officially caught up to what I have pre-written. I also have an injured wrist right now (and can barely type), and have finals coming up shortly. Which is all to say that I'm going to apologize in advance in case it takes me a bit longer to get the next chapter up. On the plus side, I know where this story is going and have a detailed plan for the next chapter, so it WILL get written (eventually).

The following day dawned grey and damp. Lance limped for several minutes when we first got up, and even I was a little stiff. The fire smoked badly and in the end we ate a cold breakfast of stale biscuits and dried meat. An oppressive silence and heaviness hung over our small camp. I had never experienced anything like it, even before the battle at Badon Pass when our small force of three hundred Britons had confronted two thousand invading Saxons. I tried to remind myself how well thad day had turned out, but this situation was so different that I soon gave up and accepted the cold ball in the pit of my stomach. Abruptly, I wished that Arthur was with us. His persona was always exceptionally comforting during these dire situations. 

“You alright?” murmured Lance in my ear, taking my hand covertly. 

“Not really,” I replied honestly.

“I can tell. I know you well.” He paused then, “It’s going to be alright.”

“No, it’s not,” I snapped quietly, trying to pull my hand away. I was in a foul mood and didn’t want to be placated. But the older knight was having none of it. 

“Yes, it is. Stop worrying about me if that’s what you’re doing. You’re walking into the lion's’ den; you need to have your head screwed on straight!” I started slightly. That was the tone Lance had used when I was a squire and wasn’t paying attention. “Talk through what you’re going to do,” Lance encouraged. 

I licked dry lips, feeling like squire again. It was oddly comforting to be reminded that there was still someone looking out for me. “Right. So. From here, the four of us ride a bit closer to the edge of the forest, close enough to the castle that I can go the rest of the way on foot without it taking too long. I want to get there just before dusk, before they close the gates but not by much.”

“Why on foot?” Lance prompted.

“To be less threatening. And so I can say that I was attacked by bandits on my way through the forest - I need to be as non-threatening as possible and garner as much sympathy as possible.” I paused for a moment, then continued slowly, “Although...it’s going to need to look like a got into a fight.”

“Something to explain how you lost your horse,” added Lance, “Which reminds me, who are you going to be? You can’t say that you’re a Knight of Camelot, but you’ll never pass as anything other than a fighter of some kind...” 

“Of course not. I was thinking a mercenary fallen on hard times. I’m not that physically imposing so I’ll play it that no one would hire me and was going to seek work with Lyonesse, but then I was attacked by bandits and injured. Lost my horse, most of my weapons...”

“Yes, that is good.”

“But I’m going to need injuries if I’m to play the wounded, hapless, largely incompetent merc begging help.” 

I watched Lancelot nod stiffly as he tried not to wince at the idea. “We’ll deal with that in a bit. Finish talking me through the plan.” 

I thought for moment, then continued. “Assuming that they take me in, my plan is to try to avoid anyone in charge. If that isn’t possible then I will play the subservient and slightly dense soldier and ask no questions.”

“How do you plan-”

“Hush,” I told him a little sharply. I  _ wasn’t _ a squire anymore and I didn’t need him second guessing everything. His help was wonderful, but only if he let me get through things on my own!

“Right, sorry,” he murmured, actually looking chagrined. It was strange, but also strikingly adorable and my stomach turned unpleasantly. I could hurt him so badly if I tried, especially now that he had literally given a part of himself to me. I was still a bit shocked that he had done that. I hadn’t truly thought he was capable of placing that much trust in another person, even me. Now I owed him. And I had to protect him... “Gareth?” Lance’s concern tone pulled me from my thoughts. “Gareth are you alright?”

“Fine. Just thinking,” I said quickly. 

“If you don’t want to do this...”

“That’s not an option,” I said firmly, “Like I was saying, I’m not going to risk raising suspicion or setting off a crazy sorcerer by asking questions of people in power. If I have the opportunity I will speak to a couple of servants - Lynette can probably point me to ones I can trust - and try to ascertain what I can about the guards and where they’re holding the queen. If I can’t find out surreptitiously then tonight I will make one of the soldiers tell me before I go handle the guards in the gatehouse. Be ready around midnight, but I plan to wait until closer to an hour after, or at least the end of the night watch, but I don’t want to push it too close to dawn. You’ll just have to be ready.”

“We will be,” he said strongly. 

“I don’t plan on opening the main gate, just the door the guards use, assuming the gatehouse is constructed like most. I’ll have to open the drawbridge regardless I suppose; hopefully the mechanism will work for one person.”

“If not I guess we’ll just be getting wet. And we’ll need a signal.”

“I’ll wave a torch three times.”

“Alright. Anything else that you can think of?” asked Lance. 

“Just that we ought to get Lynette to tell us if there is any other way into or out of the castle. It would be nice to have an escape route. But I’m not getting my hopes up. She seems intelligent enough that if here was another reasonable way in she wouldn’t have mentioned the main gate first.”

Lancelot nodded his satisfaction and said, “That sounds...well, I won’t say good - nothing about this is good - but plausible and well-thought-out.”

“Good, then all I need to do is make it look like I got in a fight, then we can leave.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait...”

“I need it to look like it happened in the night,” I reminded him gently. “You should go talk to Lynette and see if there’s anything else she could tell us. I’m going to go get Bors or Gawain to help me.”

I started to turn away but was stopped by a snapped, “No!”

I faced Lancelot slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” he repeated in a low, pained voice that nonetheless had a deadly edge. “No, if someone is going to do that to you it is going to be me.” 

I blinked, then chuckled. God, he picked the strangest times to be possessive. “You’re sure?” I asked, sobering abruptly. What I was going to ask of them wouldn’t be easy for Gawain or Bors, nevermind Lance who cared for me so much for me.

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly. 

“Alright then,” I sighed, actually rather relieved. I didn’t really trust Bors enough for something like this and it didn’t seem fair to ask Gawain; he carried so much responsibility on his shoulders already and he had such a sweet nature. Even now he was speaking to Lynette, clearly soothing her concerns. I realized suddenly that Gawain quite obviously adored our companion. They would make an interesting pair if we survived this. Bors, by comparison, was lounging against a tree, sharpening a dagger and looking rather put out with the world. When Lance and I stood and began to make our way into the forest he raised his head. 

“Where are you two going?”

“If I’m going to play at being a helpless traveler and win some sympathy it’s going to need to look like I lost a fight. They aren’t likely to just accept a healthy young man who appears on the doorstep; that’s too suspicious. If I’m a hapless mercenary fallen on hard times who lost my horse and most of my weapons to bandits, they might just let me in.” 

Bors raised one eyebrow and looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but Gawain jumped in. “That makes sense, unfortunately. Just...be...judicious.” 

“Don’t worry,”muttered Lance looking profoundly unhappy. 

Hurting someone you know is strange. Lance and I had accidentally each hurt the other while sparring on several occasions - once or twice quite badly. Once, I had opened a cut across his chest that had laid him up for a couple of days and left a distinct scar. When I was only twelve Lance had broken my arm with a misjudged swing of a practice sword. We had both come close to being knocked unconscious in particularly rough sparring matches. And in every one of those cases the ‘guilty’ party had felt bad, but we had both understood that it was simply something that happened occasionally, and it was easy enough to move on. But to hurt someone intentionally, especially someone you care deeply about, is more difficult than hurting yourself. Lance had made me hit him once, years before, to show me how much strength it would take to fell a full-grown man. It remained one of the hardest things I have ever done. With that in mind, I truly felt awful that I was asking this of him. But I was also strangely pleased that he had insisted; it told me how much he cared about me because he understood how much faith I had to put in whomever did this. 

My stomach was a mess of knots as we walked, but when we finally stopped in a small mossy clearing I realized that what I felt wasn’t pure nervousness; there was something else too which I tried to ignore. Lance turned to me, black leather rippling across his shoulders and chest, and my stomach flipped not unpleasantly. I stripped off my heavy leather jerkin to make things a bit easier, and tossed it aside along with my sword belt. 

To my relief, Lance didn’t ask me if I was sure about this, he just said quietly, “Ready?” I swallowed hard and nodded once. Lance stepped forward, placed his left hand on my shoulder, and squared his feet. The first blow to my ribs took me by surprise, but barely staggered me. It had far less power behind it than his strikes in a practice bout did. Two blows to my stomach winded me, but didn’t hurt the way I had expected. He wasn’t really trying, and I was strangely turned on. 

He warned me before he struck my face, a sharp slap. 

“Enough!” I gasped, but when he tried to pull away from me, a hurt look on his face, I grabbed his arm and kissed him. 

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You had better do this properly, Lance, because what you’re doing right now isn’t as bad as sparring with you - I’m not even going to have bruises - and you are really fucking hot.” 

In response wrapped one strong arm around my waist possessively and kissed me deeply, all tongue and teeth. We held each other for several long moments, kissing and enjoying the feel of our bodies pressed together. When we finally broke apart, Lance laughed uncertainly. “Well, that was unexpected...”

“Indeed,” I agreed, then shot him a sideways smile, “But it was rather...” 

“Yes, it was.” 

It was my turn to laugh, but I quickly pulled myself back to the task at hand. “We had better get this over with. We need to be on the road soon.” Lance sighed sadly, but nodded and released me grudgingly. “I need a few bruises, and maybe a couple of cuts so it looks like someone came at me with a sword. And we’re going to have to do something to my head.”

“I’m  _ not  _ going to hit your head hard enough to leave a mark.”

“No,” I agreed, “I need to be thinking clearly tonight. But a cut would make it look like I’d been hit hard. And all the blood wouldn’t be a bad thing...”

“Strange conversation,” muttered Lancelot, almost too quietly for me to hear, then, louder, “Alright, that should work.”

“Bruises first. Properly this time.” Lance flashed me a brief, wolfish grin, then resumed his earlier position and before I could brace myself landed a punch to my cheekbone that sent pain ricocheting through my skull. I would have fallen if it wasn’t for his strong grip on my arm. 

“You alright?” he asked worriedly as I blinked and sucked in a breath. All the heat of a few moments before was long gone. 

“Fine. Right. Ribs. Maybe my shoulder too so it looks like I fell of my horse.”

“And maybe took a couple of blows through leather armor.”

“Yes.”

Lance used a short, stout tree-branch to inflict those bruises. He judged the blows perfectly, however, and though each winded me completely there was no serious damage done. I just really hoped this was all worth it - for Lance’s sake as much as mine. Each blow hurt him for more than it hurt me, and I found myself reassuring and encouraging him, odd as that was. The thought of how strange our relationship was nearly made me laugh in spite of everything. 

When we decided that I was sufficiently battered, I pulled my clothing back on, wincing all the while, then Lance sat me down on the ground and knelt behind me. With terribly gentle hands - very different from the ones that had so recently beaten me - he tipped my head forward and a little to one side. Laying his fingertips at a place above my ear he asked, “How about here?”

“Perfect,” I murmured and braced myself. 

Lance’s knife was very sharp and the pain was delayed. I actually felt the blood begin to sheet down my neck before the hot stinging registered. I reached up to feel the wound, but Lance grabbed my wrist and pinned it to my side. He let me bleed just long enough to ensure that my doublet was thoroughly stained with it, then gently but firmly pressed a cloth to my head. Cautious of my new bruises, I leaned back into his chest and we sat like that or a long time until Lance was content that the wound had mostly stopped bleeding. “Anything else?” He asked, and I could tell by his voice that he was hoping I said no. 

“Just a couple of shallow cuts on my arms and maybe my thigh. Sorry. I can do it...”

“No, no. I will. It’s fine.” He didn’t sound fine, but he shifted around so that he sat in front of me. 

I leaned forward, ignoring the twinges in my chest as I did so, and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. “Thank you.”

Lance just huffed and rolled up the sleeve of my shirt. We had probably done this a bit out of order but oh well. I just enjoyed the feeling of his strong, sure hands, not caring too much that was going to hurt me again. I’d endured far worse, and the look of incredible tenderness in Lance’s eyes was not something I got to see often.

*  *  *  *

I hated myself intensely for hurting Gareth, but I knew it was necessary - and there was no way in hell I was letting anyone else do this to him. The last bit wasn’t quite as bad. A few shallow cuts that would be healed and gone in a week. His head would probably need stitches if we ever got the chance...I pushed those thoughts aside and ran my fingers lightly over Gareth’s sword arm, considering. He didn’t flinch when I laid my dagger against the skin and drew the tip quickly up toward his elbow, opening a shallow wound a handbreadth long. Next I gripped his upper arm and, after checking with him that it was alright, inflicted a second cut on his bicep, further destroying his already utterly ruined shirt. 

Gareth wanted an injury on his leg as well, which made sense since he was pretending to have been attacked while on horseback by men on foot. I reached for the laces on his breeches, then paused. Gareth giggled at me. “Well, go on,” he encouraged. I glanced at his face and saw him smiling at me with a vaguely dazed look in his eyes. I wondered for a moment if I had hit him too hard, but it wasn’t the sort of distant look I’d seen in people with head injuries. Gareth just looked...sleepy and content. “Are you alright?” I asked carefully, helping him lay back on a patch of soft grass. 

“Mm,” he hummed, “I like it when you take care of me like this.” 

“Gareth...I’m hurting you...”

“You’re being gentle about it. And you’re doing it because you have to and because you care enough not to let anyone else do it.” Well, when he put it like that... “Besides,” he added, helping me with his breeches, “It doesn’t hurt much. Not now.” 

I took him at his word and considered his left thigh. Since he’s right handed an attacker would have come from that side. I didn’t want to cut through the heavy leather trousers while Gareth was wearing them because it would be far too easy to do more damage to this skin beneath than I wanted to. “Take these off,” I said tugging lightly at the fabric. Gareth gave me a pointed look and even I couldn’t quite suppress a huff of laughter. “Oh don’t be like that. Come on.” 

With Gareth in just his light hose, I set about inflicting a cut to the outside of his thigh and a matching slice through his trousers, then very gently helped him redress. He’d be feeling the bruises by now and with blood staining his sleeve, pants, and hair he looked a right mess. It sent all of my protective tendencies into overdrive and before we made our way back to camp I paused and simply held him close. Sitting on the cold ground, exhausted and still nursing a hole in my chest where a part of my soul was missing, I held him as tenderly as I knew how and stroked his hair murmured to him how brave and wonderful he ways. Gareth curled close to my chest and fisted one hand in my doublet. His eyes drifted closed and I would swear he napped briefly. But the sun was rising higher in the sky, and we had a Queen to rescue. Still...

He woke when I scooped him up and stood carefully. My knees protested violently and the stress of the maneuver, but I really didn’t care. 

“Lance!” laughed Gareth, swatting at me playfully. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of of you,” I replied perhaps a bit too honestly. “You said you like that.”

“I do,” he told me, resting his head against my shoulder for a moment, eyes still sleepy. But then he heaved a sigh and poked at me. “Alright come on put me down we have work to do.” 

He was right, so I set him back on his feet and we walked away from the little clearing, leaving the bizarre sexual tension behind for the moment (though I promised myself that when this was all over Gareth and I were going to have a long conversation about how relaxed and dopey he had gotten just now). 

We returned to camp to find it mostly packed up. Gawain glanced at us and visibly suppressed a wince at Gareth’s battered state. Lynette bit her lip but likewise didn’t comment. She was a practical woman and I was beginning to rather like her for that reason. But Bors, of course, couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. “Fucking hell, Lance,” he said with a stricken look, eyeing the blood on Gareth’s face and clothes. I ignored ignored him until he added, “Fucking  _ hell _ . You claim to love him but you can do  _ that _ to him?” He sounded utterly incredulous. 

I was across the clearing before I’d even thought about it, and Bors’ back hit a nearby tree an instant later. I fisted my hands in his doublet, pinned him there in spite of his slightly greater size, and  _ growled _ . “What the fuck did you just say?” 

Bors opened his mouth to reply, looking surprised for some reason at my vehemence, but Gareth and Gawain stepped in before Bors could speak - and undoubtedly make this worse for himself. “Lance,” said Gareth calmingly, “Let him go.” 

Gawain placed his hands over mine and added, “We can’t afford to be fighting among ourselves, Lance. Don’t hurt him.” I wanted to. Oh did I ever want to hurt Bors for that, for saying so succinctly what I silently feared of myself - that there was something wrong with me that I could hurt the man I loved. 

“Lancelot.” That was Gareth again, tone firm but gentle, and I sighed and stepped back, giving Bors a little shove in the process. I shot Bors a murderous glare and made to turn away, but Gareth stepped into the space that now existed between Bors and I, squared up, and punched him. Hard. “You are fucking jackass,” Gareth spat, entirely intimidated by the larger knight, “And you are damn lucky that we have bigger problems than your attitude right now.” And with that he walked away and mounted his horse, wincing visibly as he did. Gawain and I both looked dumbfounded between Gareth and Bors, who was now nursing a split lip. 

“Well then,” said Gawain matter-of-factly, “Now that we’ve got that sorted, we have places to be - as Gareth said.” 

We all mounted up and got on the road, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Gareth as he rode beside me. In the last couple of days I had discovered quite unexpectedly that I liked it when Gareth was bossy and firm and threw his weight around (figuratively - he didn’t really have enough weight to throw around literally, and that made the whole thing more impressive in my mind.)

“What are you staring at?” asked Gareth somewhat grumpily when he finally noticed my attention. 

“You.” Gareth gave me an unimpressed look, so I clarified quietly, “It’s highly entertaining watching you stand up for yourself. You’re such a little thing but you pack quite a punch - literally and otherwise.” That almost got a smile out of him so I edged my mount closer and added softly, “I think I rather like it when you’re like that, bossy and a little angry.”

Gareth slid me a sideways grin. “Yes...you mentioned that a couple of days ago...”

“Well I meant it.” It was hard for me to admit things like that out loud, but I made myself do it because gods only knew if I would have another chance and I wanted to be honest with Gareth today of all days. 

He smiled at me briefly. “We are going to talk about this later. And we’re going to talk about what happened earlier.” 

_ Assuming we survive this _ , I thought pessimistically, but decided not to say anything. However, it must have showed in my face because Gareth reached out laid his hand on my arm in silent support. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promised summary for those who chose not to read the whole chapter:  
> Gareth and Lance planned out how Gareth will go about getting into the castle, and what he would do once there (aka the stuff that will bein the next chapter). Gareth decides to pretend to be a mercenary fallen on hard times who came to Lyonesse looking for work and on the way was attacked by bandits who stole his horse and most of his weapons. Lance helps him make the 'attacked by bandits' bit of the story a bit more believable. At the end of the chapter, Bors makes a jackass comment to Lance about "you claim to love him and yet you can hurt him?" Gareth keeps Lance from hitting Bors - and does it himself instead because he's an adult who can stand up for himself. Lance and Gareth also agree that if they survive this rescue mission they need to have a serious conversation about some of the rather unexpected scenarios that have been creating sexual tension between them (like how much Lance likes it when Gareth gets "bossy"). 
> 
> Not a super elegant summary but I promise that covers the important aspects of the chapter. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	9. Rescue - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all the planning and fretting, Gareth finally walks into the lion's den to rescue the Queen. And you know what they say about the best laid plans...
> 
> (An alternative summary of this chapter would be: Gareth spends a lot of time being very bad-ass)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh look, I still exist). First of all, sincerest apologies for the month-long delay in getting this posted. The end of the semester was bloody brutal and then I was getting ready for the holidays (and nursing an injured wrist all the while). But I desperately wanted to get another chapter up, so here we are! (Finally). 
> 
> Second, this is a long chapter. It's nearly twice as long as many of the others, but about 2/3 of it was written in the last 24 hours and has only been lightly edited. So I apologize for any mistakes I didn't catch, and I apologize if it's slow in places (I feel like it is but that may just be because I've had this idea in my head for a month so...)
> 
> Third, content warning for slight, semi-graphic depictions of torture. (It's nothing too bad, I promise.) 
> 
> And finally, I'm half done with the next chapter already and it will be up today or tomorrow (hopefully).  
> Happy holidays!

I left my four companions - and my horse - about a mile from the castle. I would make my way to the road and walk from there, while the others would stay hidden deeper in the forest and move parallel to the road until they came to the edge. They would then stake out a place to watch the castle gate and wait for my signal. From now until then, I was entirely on my own, beaten, sore, exhausted, and armed with only a couple of knives that I had secreted about my person. All in all, I felt about as wretched as if I really was a hapless mercenary who had been attacked by bandits, robbed, and left for dead. I limped along, wincing a little on occasion as the (miraculously healed) arrow wound beneath my ribs twinged - not to mention my ribs and the cut on my thigh. Lance had been very thorough. 

The castle was not terribly imposing, though the fact that it sits on an island in a river and (therefore had a natural mote) made it formidably defensible. I approached the main gate slowly, relieved to see that the drawbridge was still down. The gate was closed,  though that was to be expected, and the moment that I set foot on the drawbridge a voice called out from the wall, demanding to know who I was and what I wanted. I responded with the story Lance and I had invented that morning, letting my cultured Camelot accent give way to the rural drawl of my youth. The guard eyed me suspiciously and my stomach sank. I just needed to get inside.

I lowered my head, let my shoulders slump, allowed more of my pain and fatigue to show in my face. “M’lord, please,” I begged of the soldier who looked no older than I, “I’ve come such a long way an’ all I ask is work. Chance to prove myself. Please m’lord, I’m no trouble ‘t’all. I swear.” 

There was a long silence then, gruffly, “How good are you at following orders?”

“Very, m’lord,” I hurried to say, “‘s’all I’ve ever done really. An’ I know better ‘n’ t’ask questions. ‘S’not my place, I just do as ‘m told.” Lance would have pissed himself laughing if he ever heard me say that. I follow orders just fine, mind you, but I rarely do so quietly if I think they’re stupid orders. 

My assurances about my good behavior, and the subservient posture I had adopted, seemed to sway the man. “Fine,” he grumbled, “I’ll let you in, but I’ll make no promise of work.” I resisted the urge to smile as he disappeared behind the parapet and then reappeared a moment later at the small gate set beside the larger one in the castle wall. “Well come on then,” he grumbled, gesturing for me to enter. I scurried forward, keeping my head down as I did. The soldier continued, “ The lord around here is a bit odd, so I’ll take you to the cap’t and see what he says. If you’re a decent fighter, he’ll like as not keep you - we’ve been losing decent fighters lately.” True to form, I didn’t ask what that meant, though I was dying to know. 

I was led through the gate and around to a small office that clearly belonged to the captain of the guards. The man sitting behind the desk was average of height and built with plain brown hair greying at the temples and a haggard face. He held himself like a fighter, however, and I knew better than to underestimate a man like him - as rough and worn and tough as the sword he carried. 

“Captain,” said my guide, “I’ve a man here who’s interested in work. Says he’s a merc from the west.”

The Captain leaned back in his chair and looked me up and down critically. “He’s smaller than most of the stable boys and looks like someone dragged him through the seven hells and back...”

I would have been inclined to laugh had I been in a better mood. Instead, I bristled slightly as would be expected of a man in my position. “I was attacked by bandits last night. Sir.” I explained stiffly, grumbling. 

“Ah.” His expression appeared to soften slightly. “And how did you escape?”

“I think they thought they had killed me. I took a hell of a nock to the head.” I allowed my expression to darken considerably and grumbled, “They took m’ sword ‘n’ horse too. I was coming to seek work with you anyway but ‘m afraid I’m in need of it more than ever now.”

The captain nodded slowly but remained skeptical. “Never seen a merc as small as you.” 

I drew myself up, wincing in the process, and said firmly, “My last company thought that too ‘til they saw me fight.”

“Oh you think you’re good with a sword do you?”

“Yes sir,” I replied, ducking my head. I was struggling to find a balance between subservient enough not to be viewed as a threat and yet competent enough to be taken on. 

The captain laughed humorlessly. “Well, let’s see shall we?” Then he turned and stalked out into the yard, the guard and I on his heels. 

A wooden practice sword was tossed my way and I fumbled to catch it, a combination of surprise and fatigue causing my usual coordination to fail me. There were chuckles from a few other guards lounging around the yard, and I felt my ears burn. For a moment it was like being a new page being introduced to weapons training for the first time - smaller and weaker than the other boys, not to mention the sole commoner among them. I huffed out a breath and tested the balance of the sword. It was a little heavier than I prefered, and weighted too close to the front. Well, I’d just have to make due. After all, I was hardly an inexperienced boy of nine anymore. 

The guard captain was kind enough to wait until I took up a ready position before attacking, but then he did so without a moment of hesitation, and he didn’t hold back. I danced out of the way of his first few attacks, trying to decide how best to handle this. He was taller than me, and I was injured and tired. But I was almost undoubtedly a better swordsman. I tested his guard on his next two attacks and ascertained that I was indeed more adept. He fought well certainly, but I was used to matching blades against Lancelot, Arthur, Gawain and others who could all be aptly called the best in the country. 

I briefly considered drawing this out, making a show of my skill. But my bruised ribs twinged with every quick movement, and my leg throbbed. So the next time the captain took a swing at me I sidestepped, caught his blade on mine, and gave a twist of my wrist that sent his wooden sword flying out of his hand and skittering across the ground. He looked at me in surprise, then walked over, picked up the sword, and came at me again. I sighed repeated a slightly different version of the maneuver, but this time made sure the sword fell between us rather than halfway across the yard. I lunged forward, forcing him to step back, and placed the tip of my practice sword against his collarbone and at the same moment put my foot on the wooden blade of his sword so there was no chance in hell of him getting it back. I was cold, tired, and rapidly losing my patience. But then I remembered that I was supposed to be subservient and nonthreatening and silently cursed myself. 

I stumbled back, lowing my sword and mumbling an apology, careful to keep my eyes on the ground. The captain chuckled. “Aye, you’ll do, lad. What’s your name?” 

“Adam, Sir,” I replied quietly, giving the name of my older brother out of habit. I often used it when I needed an alias as it still felt familiar to me, even after all these years. 

“Right them. Geoffrey, show the boy to the barracks and see about finding him some clothes that don’t look like he spent the night sleeping in a mud puddle. And see to it that he gets to dinner on time.”

I was led off by the guard I had first spoken to, given a fresh shirt and tunic - there were no trousers in my size and my boots were much better than what I was offered - then left alone for a few minutes with a basin of cold water so I could wash up. I used a convenient flannel to wipe the worst of the dirt and blood from my torso and arms, then put on my new clothes. They were scratchy and a bit too big, but with my own leather jerkin laced on over them it wasn’t too bad. I didn’t even touch the wound on my head, but I did manage to get some of the blood out of my hair. I glanced down at the bruises on my chest and then pushed away the thought of Lance’s hands on me. Now was not the time. 

With a final sigh, I stepped out into the hall and found my escort waiting for me. “So, Adam is it?” he asked me, looking me up and down as if re-appraising me now that I wasn’t covered in blood. His gaze remained critical and cold, however. I could not imagine much warmth ever existing in this godforsaken place, but that was quite possibly just me projecting my ill-humor with the situation.

“Aye,” I replied, not quite meeting his eyes. “Geoffrey?” 

“Indeed. Come with me, it’s near to dinner time and we’re all expected to eat in the Hall.” 

 

The main hall in the keep had been set up with several long tables. A number of men wearing swords and the house colors whom I took to be most of the rest of the guards sat at two of the tables. A few people whom I assumed to be other staff - probably chamber maids and ladies in waiting - sat at the other. The high table was still empty. I resisted the urge to ask if it was typical for the staff to eat like this, and whether or not the lord and his family would be joining us. Instead, I just sat and watched and let my mind begin to process what I was seeing and hearing. 

It was too quiet, for one thing. In Camelot, the room would have been cacophonous with chatter. Here, people spoke in soft voices, almost whispers, and glanced about furtively as if expecting a blow to fall at any moment. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Another thing that I noticed was how subdued the guards were. In my experience, fighting men were often as not quite boisterous when let off duty at the end of the day and were left unsupervised while waiting for a meal. Even the Knights. But this ragtag, scraggly bunch sat still, and quiet and they conversed in low tones. Nor was the keep particularly clean or well-kept, but I didn’t find that at all surprising. 

Shortly thereafter, servants from the kitchen began bringing in trenchers, loaves of bread, and bowls of stew, setting them on the tables where we sat. As soon as we were served, everyone began eating as if they hadn’t seen food in a week, which encouraged me to do the same. The food was not good by any means, but I was hungry and I knew it was unlikely that I would eat again before the following morning, and that was if I was lucky. 

I noticed that as we ate, Geoffrey kept glancing past me toward the doors on the dias, which presumably led back into the private quarters that would usually belong to a lord and his family. I kept my head down, but watched out of the corner of my eye, and a few moments later was glad that I had done so. With no warning, those doors burst opening, thudding loudly against the walls on either side, and a robed man stepped out. Everyone in the hall scrambled to set down their spoons and sit up straight on the benches. I hurriedly did the same, then watched carefully as the man swept over to the center seat at the high table and sat down, followed by a handful of others - a woman who looked enough like Lynette that it had to be her sister, another more nondescript woman, and three men, including the captain of the guard. The cook and two assistants appeared and began frantically serving what looked like a slightly better version of our fair to those at the high table. The tension - no, the  _ fear  _ \- in the room was palpable. 

The sorcerer ate quickly while everyone else fidgeted with their food, and then he set down with his knife with a clatter. The others at the high table all visibly jumped. One of the guards at the other table dropped his tankard with a thud that sounded very loud in the unnaturally quiet room. The man immediately shrunk down on the bench, trying to make himself invisible. 

The sorcerer glared for a moment, then turned his attention to the captain of the guard and said, “So, I believe there is some business to attend to, Captain. Besides the idiot over there who can’t hold his drink.”

There was a brief smattering of stiff laughter, then the captain spoke, “You refer to the man in our dungeons, m’lord?”

“Well who else would I be referring to?” the sorcerer demanded petulantly. “Have him sent for!”

At the direction of the captain, Geoffrey and one other man got up and left the room by the main doors to the courtyard. While the rest of us waited in heavy silence, I tried to examine the man without making it too obvious that I was looking at him (since almost everyone else had their eyes fixed firmly on the table in front of them). He was not as old as I would have expected when I heard the word ‘sorcerer’, nor was he as ill-kept as Lynette’s description of his personality had led me to envision. The sorcerer was, in fact, a clean-shaven man in his early middle years with plain brown hair, eyes of some indeterminate shade of brown, and rather childish pout on his face. Over a slightly baggy set of grey breeches and doublet, he wore dark blue robes trimmed in fox fur. The overall effect was rather that of a child playing an extravagant game of dressup, and I realized with a start that to some extent that was precisely what this dinner was - it was a stilted facsimile of a court dinner such as we would have in Camelot. 

I was just mulling over what that might mean in the larger scheme of things when the two guards returned, holding a prisoner between them. He also wore a guard’s uniform with the emblem of the house of Lyonesse on his sleeve, and didn’t appear to have been in the dungeons for too long seeing as he only had about two days worth of a beard and his clothes remained in fairly good shape. The guards pushed their compatriot to his knees before the sorcerer’s place at the high table and then stood back slightly. Geoffrey placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and it made me itch to have my own weapon in my hands again. 

“Well,” said the sorcerer archly, “Have you got anything to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t do anyth-!” The man’s panicked protest was cut off by a gesture from the sorcerer. Actually cut off, as if the prisoner were being choked by an invisible force. Several men at my table flinched visibly, and Lynette’s sister pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. I tried very hard to keep my sword hand from twitching, but wasn’t entirely successful. 

The sorcerer sighed in a put-upon manner. “Don’t lie. Of course you did something or you wouldn’t be here. You refused a direct order.”

Apparently able to speak again, the guard protested, “I refused to kill an innocent man in cold blood!” 

Raising one eyebrow, clearly unamused, the sorcerer glanced at the two guards standing over the prisoner and said, “He’s a traitor. I want him dead.”

Geoffrey's sword slid smoothly out of its scabbard and the prisoner began babbling in fear. I swallowed hard and resisted the urge to close my eyes. I already knew how this would end, and no matter how many times I saw a man beg for his life it never got easier to hear. Even when it was a man guilty of capital crimes the sound made me nauseous. But an innocent man, killed for being a decent human? I swallowed bile, shoved my emotions to one side with a firm reminder to myself of why I as here, and then watched what happened next. 

The sorcerer made another gesture and the babbling stopped as the man’s whole body went rigid. Then his head bent forward stiffly. I noticed his hands twitching helplessly at his sides and realized that the sorcerer was making him move, which told me that the man was perhaps more powerful than we had realized. Without any hesitation, Geoffrey stepped forward, raised his sword, and relieved the prisoner of his head. He cleaned the blade on the fallen man’s doublet, then stepped back and stood at parade rest as if he had just picked up a fallen plate, not executed a seemingly innocent man without a trial. I felt myself go cold and ducked my head back down to stare intently at my half empty bowl of stew. Unfortunately, the sorcerer had apparently already noticed me. 

“Well well well, Captain, what have we got here? A new member of my guard that you forgot to tell me about?” 

I didn’t look up to see the captain’s reaction, but when he replied his voice was strained. “He only joined us this afternoon, m’lord. I intended to tell you after the meal.”

“And where did he come from?” Without waiting for a reply, the sorcerer turned his attention to me, “Come up here boy, and tell us where you came from. We don’t get many travellers coming this way and it makes me wonder what you’re doing here...”

I swallowed, reminded myself that I was supposed to be a hapless, servile mercenary, and stood slowly. I allowed myself to stumble slightly when stepping over the bench, and I kept my head resolutely down as I limped up to stand beside the bleeding body of the last man to displease the sorcerer who now fixed his gaze on me. 

“ _ Well _ ?” he demanded harshly, “I asked you a question, boy.” 

“I- I-” The stammer was completely real, but then I took a breath, recalled my story, and let it tumble out just as planned, keeping my eyes down the whole while. “I was a merc - a mercenary - in the West, m’lord. But I fell on hard times. My company just...well the cap’t died and his second frittered away the money, and...suddenly we weren’t no company anymore. So there I was - wi’ no pay, no job.” The sorcerer cleared his throat and I hurried on. “Well, I figgered there was plenty o’ work in th’ east. And on m’ way I ‘spose I heard someone mention Lyonesse and since I didn’t have nowhere else t’ go I decided to come here. But on the road through the forest I was ambushed by bandits. They left me fer dead. Took m’sword...but your captain was kind enough to take me in. I swear, I’m a decent fighter. I proved that t’him today, m’lord. And I know how to follow orders and not make trouble.” As I said this last I couldn’t quite keep myself from glancing sideways at the growing pool of blood and the headless former guard beside me. 

The sorcerer leaned back in his chair and hmm’ed thoughtfully, then asked, “And why should I believe you?”

“Excuse me, m’lord?”

“I said,” he snapped, growing impatient already, “Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not some spy sent to undermine me?”

“My lord? Why...I swear, I’m just looking for work, m’lord.”

“You say you were attacked by bandits?”

“Aye m’lord. They took my horse and my sword...only two things of value I owned an’ now they’re gone and I’ve nothi-”

“Oh stop snivvelling. If you were attacked why aren’t you injured?”

“They hit me on the head, sir,” I replied, turning slightly to show him the blood still in my hair, “Hit me and beat me. But the blow to the head knocked me out an’ I reckon they thought they’d done killed me, m’lord.” 

“That’s hardly proof.”

“The lad was covered in blood when he came in,” offered the captain, “And he’s right that he can handle a sword well. Seeing as we’re short handed I thought-”

“ _ You _ aren’t supposed to  _ think _ ,” yelled the sorcerer, then returned his attention to me. 

“So that’s all? A knock on the head and what?”

I sighed and reached for the laces on my doublet. This was precisely why Lance and I had gone to all the trouble of giving me real bruises - in case someone demanded to see them, or in case someone had watched me wash and then reported back. With mad sorcerer in charge we had to be sure that my story was as real as possible. Now I silently thanked Lance’s thoroughness as I stood with my doublet and shirt in my hands, my bruised ribs and cut arms on full display. I kept my shoulders hunched in, giving the impression both of pain and meekness, knowing it made me look small and fragile and eminently unthreatening. Sadly, it didn’t entirely work. 

“Geoffrey, lock him in one of the spare rooms for the night. I’ll decide what to do with him tomorrow.”

“M’lord, please, I-” and suddenly no words would come out of my mouth. I could still breathe (thankfully) but when I tried to speak it was like the words caught in my throat and no sound came. So I was led away in silence, Geoffrey keeping one hand pointedly on the hilt of his sword as he took me by the arm and roughly led me away. 

I was taken to a room on the second floor, what had probably once been a decent guest room but was long-disused now - cold and dusty and empty but for a couple of old wooden chests. I heard the door behind me close and lock, and huffed a sigh. This was not how I had wanted the evening to go. I slumped against the wood and permitted myself a few moments of cursing viciously under my breath, then I sat down and waited. 

*  *  *  *

I listened at the door for a long time. I listened as three patrols went by an intervals of what I perceived to be slightly over an hour. They were not (as far as I could tell) particularly regular. But none were less than an hour, and that was good to know. I checked to see if the trunks would be helpful but they were locked tight. I had lockpicks but decided not to waste my time. I spent a little while fiddling with the lock on the door, but it was old and rusty. I could have gotten myself out if it was the only way, but I had decided that, seeing as I needed information (and needed it soon if we were to pull this off tonight), there was a better option. 

I removed the concealed dagger from my left boot (leaving the right one for easy access later if I needed it), moved to stand just to one side of the door and waited until I heard booted footsteps in the passage again. Asingle set, as I had come to expect. Then I began to pound on the door. I didn’t even need to call out. Curiosity got the better of the guard in the hall and a few moments later the door opened sharply. “What’s all the rack-?” he began to ask before I hauled him into the room and kicked the door shut. The guard was taller than I, but I had spent my life fighting against and training with men who were bigger than me, so it was the work of a thought to have him up against a wall and put the dagger to his throat. “Wha-” he fell silent as I pressed the dagger a little harder, hard enough for him to feel the keenness of the blade. 

“If you shout or try to draw attention to yourself I’ll slit your throat and leave you here to die drowning in your own blood, are we clear?” I kept my voice flat and my expression emotionless as I said this, knowing from watching Lance work that a lack of emotion in threats was actually more frightening than anger in many cases. The guard blanched and nodded frantically in tiny movements, clearly all too aware of the blade against his neck. “Good,” I said, maintaining my flat tone, “Now, do you know where the Queen is?”

“Q-queen?”

“The Queen,” I repeated, “Guinevere. Your sorcerer kidnapped her and I need to know where she is.”

“I-I don’t know...”

He was lying. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. My stomach churned. I had so hoped he wouldn’t lie. Without allowing a flicker of expression to cross my face, I pulled the dagger away from his neck and, before the guard to relax, plunged the blade into the meaty part of his thigh. Aware that he would scream, my left hand closed over his throat at the same moment to choke off the sound. I counted to five, letting him adjust slightly to the pain, before allowing him the freedom to speak and breathe again. I didn’t remove the dagger from his leg. 

“Let’s try this again,” I said implacably, “Where is the Queen?” 

The guard made a few small noises, then shook his head. I twisted the knife, clamping down on his airway again so that he still couldn’t scream. His body arched away from the wall in abject agony, but I was strong enough to hold him in place, and this time when I released his throat he couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough. “Dungeous. Not the main ones. Special ones. Northwest corner.”

“Very good. How do I get to them.”

“The sorcerer sleeps in the room next to them. You’ll never-”

“Let me be the judge of that. Just tell me how to get there.” The guard was sweating and shaking now from the pain and blood loss. I could taste bile in the back of my throat but swallowed it down jostled the knife slightly, drawing a low moan from the man. “Well?”

“From the main hall, left to the kitchens. Follow the hallway far as you can. Heavy door at the very end. Stairwell down. That’s the dungeons. She’s in the first cell. No one else down there.” 

I nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.”

The guard whimpered. “Please. Please sir, don’t kill me, I-”

“I’m not going to kill you,” I grumbled, letting the emotionless mask slip just slightly. 

I lowered the man to the floor, cut a piece from his doublet, and used it to gag him, then pulled my knife from his leg. He passed out briefly, and by the time he’d come to I had used another strip to put a tourniquet on the injured leg to slow the bleeding. “There,” I said, patting his shoulder awkwardly, “You’ll live. Probably won’t even have a limp.” And with that (and a sick feeling in my stomach) I stood, picked up the guard’s battered sword, and slipped out of the room. 

I made my way back down to the main hall, glanced at the hallway that led to the dungeons, then turned and made my way out into the courtyard, making for the gatehouse. I wasn’t taking on a powerful sorcerer by myself. I wasn’t stupid. And I wasn’t Lancelot. 

The gatehouse was guarded, of course. That had been a foregone conclusion, but, idiot that I was, I’d forgotten to ask the guard I’d tortured (I mentally cringed away from that word) how many men to expect. So I hefted my stolen sword in one hand and my good dagger in the other, and simply walked in. There were six men, as it turned out, and I made a mental note to tell Lynette that her guess had been spot on. I didn’t want to kill in cold blood, but I also couldn’t afford to have any of these men sound the alarm, so I used the heavy hilt of the (terribly balanced) sword, to knock out the first guard. His back was to me and he never even saw me coming. The second I tripped and gave a sharp kick to the back of his skull. The third and fourth had time to draw their weapons and at that point they became fair game to my exhausted brain. One died with a sword through his heart, the other to a dagger placed neatly in the base of his skull. The fact that neither suffered would be cold consolation to me later. The fifth man was Geoffrey. I felt my lips curl in a snarl at the sight of him. 

Keeping his eyes on me, Geoffrey said to the sixth and final man in the room, “Sound the alarm.” His voice was as cold as mine had been early, but I didn’t have time to contemplate that just then. 

I allowed myself the briefest glance at the other guard. “You move and I’ll put a dagger in your neck.”

The man paused a moment, saw Geoffrey’s thunderous expression, and moved. I did as promised, my dagger spinning through the air and sinking into the man’s throat with a wet thud. I repressed the rush of satisfaction I got at making such an accurate throw with my off hand, turned my attention to Geoffrey, and allowed myself a smile that I’m sure was at least half as frightening as Lance’s would have been in the same situation. Geoffrey charged at me with sword and dagger both drawn. 

There wasn’t much room in the gatehouse, though the room was fairly large to accommodate the apparatus that raised and lowered the drawbridge that equipment took up a fair amount of space. This meant that neither Geoffrey nor I could maneuver easily. I sidestepped his first thrust, blocked his dagger with my sword, and contemplated how I wanted to end this. Between the physical exhaustion of the last few days and the mental exhaustion of the evening I was moving in a kind of fog where my actions were more mechanical than conscious. Unfortunately, those motions actions were also becoming marginally slower than usual, and in a moment of inattention Geoffrey’s sword slid past my guard and bit into my shoulder. I yelped, an undignified sound of surprise, and felt adrenalin flood through my system. My vision sharpened, the exhaustion receded, and my body moved without the need for any direction from my brain. I stepped back, then sideways, spun away from Geoffrey’s sword and, as he turned to keep us facing each other I took advantage of a single moment when his body wasn’t well-guarded to drive my own stolen blade through his gut just below his ribs. I twisted it viciously, this time aiming to hurt not for information but in retribution for the murder he had committed earlier. With a final twist and tug I stepped back and let Geoffrey topple to the ground. He was still breathing, and it would surely take him some time to die. I found I didn’t care much in his case. 

I set the bloodied sword against the wall, kicked Geoffrey’s own weapon across the room just to be safe, and checked that both of the guards I had knocked unconscious remained so. One was beginning to stir so I took the time to bind and gag both of them with strips cut of their own clothing. Then I recovered my dagger from the neck of the man on the far side of the room, cleaned it, and slipped it back into my boot. Lance would have my own sword for me, thank goodness. With that unduly exciting thought in mind, I set about checking the drawbridge apparatus and was pleased to discover that, though the bridge was up, it appeared that it could be operated by a single person. I took a breath, said a quiet prayer that it wouldn’t be too terribly loud, and then set about lowering the damn thing. It seemed loud to me, but no one came running or set up an alarm, so perhaps the Morrigan (or someone) was looking out for me again. 

With the drawbridge down, I fetched a torch from a bracket on the wall, slipped back outside, and made my way to the small gate set in the wall beside the full sized one. This gate was intended to admit one or two people at a time so that the main gate didn’t have to be opened for absolutely everything. In fact, it was how I had entered earlier. Now I opened the small door, reached outside with my torch, and waved it back and forth a few times. Then I returned the the torch to its bracket and crouched down in the shadow of the wall by the gate to wait for my companions to arrive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging long.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	10. Rescue - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remainder of the rescue attempt - from Lancelot's (rather appreciative) point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, two (long) chapters in three days. It's a miracle. 
> 
> Enjoy more of Gareth being bad-ass (and then lots of cuddles)

The edge of the forest was nearly a half mile from the keep. We settled in to wait around mid-afternoon, and by early evening I was shivering. It wasn’t particularly cold out; I wasn’t shivering because of the air, but rather because of the gaping hole in my chest where I was missing a part of my soul. It was the same feeling as when Gareth was near but not touching me, only it was many times worse. As the evening wore on, my head started to ache, and fatigue made me feel like my limbs were made of lead. As the sun sunk below the horizon I noticed that my hands were shaking and felt a bolt of cold fear go through me. I couldn’t afford to feel like this when we were about to quite literally storm a castle with only four fighting men. I also couldn’t afford to turn into a quivering wreck every time Gareth and I were separated for a few hours. 

Gawain, sitting beside me, cast a glance my way, looked down, then back to me and asked softly, “What exactly happened between you and Gareth, that night he was shot?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I know what I saw. I know I saw him mortally wounded, and I know I saw a...a woman you called ‘grandmother’, and then suddenly Gareth was alright and you’ve been a mess and I suppose I’m curious as to what happened.”

“You mean you don’t know?” I demanded in shock.

“No,” replied Gawain patiently, “I don’t. None of us do, but we agreed that we should leave you two alone as long as you seemed to be managing. Well...all do respect, Lance, but you look like death.” 

“Feel like it,” I admitted, looking away, then considered how to explain to Gawain what had happened. The more I had thought about it in the last couple of days the more I had realized how little the Morrigan had really explained, and how little Gareth and I ourselves understood what had happened. So I started by telling Gawain as much, then outlining the way that Gareth and I were now connected. He was quiet for a long time after I had finished my brief explanation, gazing in the direction of the keep but clearly not actually looking at it where it loomed black against the grey sky. 

“It seems like when you two aren’t in close proximity it affects you badly,” he observed after a while. I made a noise of agreement. “Does it affect him the same?”

“No,” I said quickly, glaring at my friend for a moment, “Do you really think I’d have let him go in there if-”

“Of course not,” placated Gawain, “But you admitted yourself that you don’t understand it well yet...”

“No, Gareth seems fine. In fact, when we touch he says he...he sort of gets a sense of what I’m feeling.”

Gawain’s eyebrows rose at that, but he didn’t comment. 

 

We sat in silence companionship until the moon was high overhead, watching the keep until we saw a torch wave three times from the place in the black mass that I remembered the gate being. “Well, let’s go see what Gareth has managed to learn, shall we?” asked Gawain rhetorically, standing and stretching languidly. Bors, who had spent the last two hours methodically cleaning and re-cleaning every weapon he carried, got to his feet and sheathed his sword. I blew out a breath and stood as well. The world spun sluggishly for a moment before settling, leaving me feeling unsteady and like I couldn’t trust my own body. For a man who had spent three quarters of his life relying on his physical abilities, that was disconcerting in the extreme. 

We made our way slowly across the open moorland, leading our horses (and Gareth's). It was a bit impractical to have them, but we wanted to be able to make a quick getaway if necessary, so we planned to leave Lynette outside by the drawbridge with them. If things went as we hoped, no one would know we were there; and if things didn’t go as we hoped then it stood to reason that the four of us inside would be making enough of a ruckus that no one would notice a few horses outside in the darkest part of the night, with clouds scudding across the moon. 

I for one was glad of the slow, cautious pace we set, because I was out of breath after only a score or so of steps. However, the closer we got to the keep, the better I felt. I still felt bloody awful, but the sensation of being about to pass out gradually retreated and by the time we reached the drawbridge I at least felt steady on my feet and had my breath back. And my hands were no longer shaking. I was still exhausted, but I could fight exhausted. And then we were inside the keep and Gareth was  _ there _ . I pulled him into my arms without a thought. He hummed in surprise but returned the embrace desperately. Strength flowed back through my limbs and I felt lighter than I had all day. I fisted my hands in the back of Gareth’s doublet and buried my nose in his soft hair, allowing myself just one moment to enjoy his smell and the feel of him against me, safe. Then I stepped back and looked him up and down, noting that he was wearing some new clothing. In the dark I couldn’t see much else, and we didn’t have time for long heartfelt reunions. 

“Are you alright?” I asked. 

“I know where the Queen is,” he replied, “And so far I don’t think anyone has discovered what we’re doing here.”

“Good,” said Gawain crisply as I tried not to worry over Gareth’s lack of a direct answer to my question.

The three of us followed Gareth into the keep, and down a long hallway that ended in a wooden door with iron bands around it and two locks. Gareth had warned us that the sorcerer kept the rooms just beside this door, but even so I was surprised when the man himself appeared before either Gareth or I even had time to reach for our picklocks. 

“Well well well what have we here?” laughed the sorcerer softly, standing so as to block our only escape route. The hallway was a bit too narrow to allow the full range of motion for a sword, so I reached for the long dagger at my belt instead. The sorcerer made a gesture and I found myself thrown against the wall by an invisible force. The impact winded me, but I managed not to hit my head too badly, so I saw very clearly what happened next. The sorcerer stretched out a hand (presumably to do something else to me or to one of the others) and a dagger appeared in it. One of Gareth’s good daggers that he was carrying in his boots for this particular mission. The sorcerer blinked in shock, staring at the metal suddenly protruding from flesh, and that single brief moment of hesitation cost him dearly for Gareth crossed the space between them, yanked his dagger out, mangling the sorcerer’s hand in the process, and pressed the blade to the man’s neck. “Open the bloody door or I’ll ruin the other one too. I’d like to see you try to do magic then you utter bastard.” Gawain looked on in mild amusement, Bors in a mix of horror and respect - and I rather embarrassingly found myself torn between shame that I had turned this otherwise sweet boy into a man who could kill and torture, and (entirely inappropriate, I mentally admonished myself) pleasure curling hotly in the pit of my stomach because  _ fuck  _ Gareth was attractive like this. Scary, but bloody attractive. 

The sorcerer gaped like a fish out of water for a long moment and Gareth, apparently losing patience, grasped the man’s uninjured hand and slammed it into the wall hard enough to break bones. “Open. The. Damn. Door.”

“I - the key-”

“Yes, where are the keys?” demanded Gareth. 

The sorcerer made one final attempt to resist, shaking his head firmly even though he was quivering with fear and pain. Meanwhile I finally managed to shake off my own shock and peel myself away from the wall. With me looming behind Gareth (looking twice as intimidating, I’m sure), the man’s will crumbled and he directed us to both his nightstand and a cord around his neck. Bors fetched the key from the room while I cut the leather thong that the second key hung on. 

“Check that they’re the right keys,” Gareth instructed implacably, still pinning the sorcerer to the wall with a knife and a murderous glare.  We did and they were, at which point Gareth reversed his grip on the dagger and knocked the man unconscious with the pommel. “Pity that we probably can’t take him with us for questioning,” he mused, looking down at the heap at his feet, “But I suppose that would rather defeat the point of subtly.” Then he turned toward the stairs down into the dungeon. 

Gawain and Bors were both closer so they led the way through the doorway. Gareth took a step to follow, then paused and glanced back at the sorcerer whose bloody, broken hand was just visible among the tangle of his robes. I watched my lover swallow and shudder subtly, then he glanced up at me, his eyes very big and expression a little helpless. “How do you do this, Lance?” he whispered, “How do you do this and not lose your mind?” 

I shook my head numbly. “I wish I knew.”

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded once and visibly pulled himself back together before descending into the dark of the dungeons. I followed on his heels, heart pounding at the thought of what we might find. The stairs wound downward in a spiral, narrow and clearly meant to be defensible. There was a small room at the bottom and a single guard sitting under a smoky torch. Bors grabbed the man from behind, spun him around, and pressed the tip of his sword to the man’s sternum. “Give us the keys.”

“H-how did you get down here?”

Bors smiled humorlessly and nodded in Gareth’s direction. “The skimpy little one who looks like a stableboy made your sorcerer give them to us.” He paused for effect then added, “Now imagine what  _ I _ could do to  _ you _ .” Normally I would have been the one making threats like that, but Bors seemed to be relishing an outlet for his simmering anger. 

The guard blanched and pointed to the side, “They’re hanging on that hook there. You’ll want the one with the round top.”

“And how do you know that?” asked Bors skeptically as Gawain fetched the keys off the wall a few steps away. 

“Only one prisoner down here right now,” replied the guard and Gareth at the same time, the former sounding panicked and the latter vaguely bored. 

I cast a glance at my lover, intending to give him a private little smile to let him know I was proud of him, in spite of the brutality I had watched him inflict tonight, but the sight of blood all down one arm of his shirt made me pause. While Bors and Gawain quickly bound and gagged the guard, I edged over to Gareth and murmured, “Are you alright?” He looked back at me blankly so I tried being more specific. “Your arm. Is your arm alright?”

He glanced down at it as if only noticing the injury for the first time, then shrugged. “It’s fine. Looks worse than it is, I think. Just a scratch.” I considered disputing that, but we had other things to attend to, and the longer we were here the more danger of an alarm being raised (though I was reasonably confident that with the sorcerer incapacitated we could handle the guards). 

The four of us moved quickly into the cell block and were confronted with four metal doors. “It’ll be the first one,” Gareth instructed, and Gawain, who was holding the key, made no comment as to how Gareth knew this. He was correct though; the door swung open easily on well oiled hinges and I braced myself for a potentially very disturbing sight beyond. What I got instead was an image of Guinevere swinging a heavy chain at Gawain’s head. He ducked and cursed in surprise, and then Guinevere recognized us and dropped the improvised weapon. “Oh thank God, it’s about damn time.” Gareth made a little sound like choked laugh, but Bors was less amused. 

“All do respect, Your Majesty, but you are a long way from Camelot, and those who abducted you went to considerable pains to hide you from us.”

“Yes, that sorcerer. Where is the bastard?”

“Gareth dealt with him, Guin,” I said placatingly, “Though he’s alive in case we have an opportunity to question him.”

She nodded, appeared to gather herself slightly, and then said, “Well, we’d best be going, shan’t we?”

Bors led the way back up the stairs, sword drawn. Gawain followed. Gareth and I escorted Guin, and when it was briefly just the three of us on the stairs she reached out and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you for coming for me Lance.”

“Of course. Though really, Gareth did most of the work.”

“He looks like he did,” she muttered, referring no doubt to Gareth’s battered, bloody state and exhausted eyes. But then Guin added, “Is...how is Arthur fairing? I can’t imagine this has been easy for him.”

“He’s managing,” I assured her, “And once he knows you're safe I’m sure all will be well.” 

“Good. I’ve been almost as worried about him as I have been about me...” 

I nodded. Guin knew perhaps better than anyone how quickly Arthur crumbled when she was in trouble. 

We reached the main hall with no trouble, and slipped cautiously out into the courtyard. Gareth gestured us quickly to the small gate, explaining to Guinevere in a whisper that we had a friend outside with horses, but that she’d have to ride double with someone. Guinevere hated riding double but she was practical enough not to protest. Sadly this was not the Queen’s first close encounter with danger, although it was certainly the worst such scrape by a long way. 

Just as Guinevere and Gawain slipped out, a shout went up from across the yard. It seemed we were finally discovered. Gareth and I, the last two inside, shared a look that could only be described as put-upon, then turned as one and drew our swords. Bors shouted at us, but Gareth called over his shoulder for the others to get a head start. “Leave my horse!” I added, knowing the animal was trained well enough to stay put until we needed him. 

I had no idea how many guards Gareth may or may not have taken out already, but my guess was that the eight who came running toward us now were the entirety of the new watch, having just discovered their fallen comrades elsewhere in the keep. They charged us en masse, but Gareth and I were two of the finest trained men in the country and we had fought together in the past. Eight men against the two of us were entirely fair odds. Or at least they were on a day when both Gareth and I were in top form. Today we were both exhausted, and Gareth was injured - and yet even so fighting beside him was a joy. We put our backs to the wall and each fought with a sword and dagger, and it was wonderful in a way that killing should not have been. I would have sworn that since we became lovers we became even more perfectly aware of each other in a fight, and without looking I could tell how he was faring beside me - very well, as it so happened. 

It was also over surprisingly soon, and we stumbled out the small gate and across the drawbridge. I could feel blood running over my ribs and down one leg from two minor wounds, the sort that were practically unavoidable when fighting with such uneven odds. I swung myself into the saddle and reached down to give Gareth a hand up behind me. I heard him make a little pained noise but then his arms wrapped firmly around my waist and he snapped, “Go! Go!” I kicked the horse and we pounded off into the night. 

We caught up with the others just inside the treeline. Guinevere was mounted on Gareth’s horse and he indicated for her to stay there. The Queen was a good enough rider to keep up with the rest of us.

“Are you two alright?” asked Gawain. 

“Yes,” replied Gareth at the same moment as I said, “Fine.” 

“Good. Then we ride until dawn and get as far from here as possible.” 

Gawain led us off down the road. We’d just have to risk bandits in the interest of getting away quickly. Gareth leaned against my back, our bodies moving in perfect synchronicity with the motion of the horse. After a few moments, he murmured almost too softly for me to hear, “I should have done something about the stables so they couldn’t follow us with horses.”

I reached down and grasped his hand where it rested on my sword belt. “You did brilliantly tonight, Gareth. That went as well as it possibly could have.”

He made a disbelieving sound, but I could almost feel the exhaustion seeping off of him. “I tortured two men tonight and killed at least six.” I closed my eyes in pain. I had always feared that Gareth would not be able to cope with the skills I had given him. This was the first time he had ever had to put them to use on his own and it seemed that my concerns were justified. I opened my mouth to begin to reassure him that he had done the right thing, but then he spoke again. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all over again if I had to. We saved the Queen. And I didn’t kill when I didn’t have to. I did my duty and I did it well; I don’t regret that. I just...” he let out a long sigh and rested his head on my shoulder, “Ah gods, Lance, I’m so, so tired.” I heard him choke back a sob on that last word and my heart broke a little. He gripped me tighter and I patted leg, the best comfort I could offer just then. 

*  *  *  *

About an hour later we came to a narrow stream and paused to let the horses drink. I swung my leg over my horse’s neck and slipped down to land on the ground. There was a time I could have done that with perfect grace, even after the day and night we’d had. Now my legs protested and I grimaced at my stiff joints as I put a hand on the bridle to keep my balance. Then I tapped Gareth’s calf gently. “Shift up.”

“What?” He sounded half asleep, probably a combination of the long night with no rest and the fatigue that often hit after an intense mission such as this one, but I worried that he might also be losing blood from his arm, or some other injury I was still unaware of. 

“Lance?” That was Gawain’s voice. In the predawn darkness of the deep forest I could scarce make out the shape of the other’s horses around me, even though they were mere paces away. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” I replied, swinging myself back into the saddle behind Gareth, as had been my initial intent in dismounting. I wanted to be able to hold him (not that I was likely to admit that out loud where Bors could hear). 

“Right then. Let’s keep moving.”

We started off again and I tied the reins loosely around the saddlehorn. My warhorse was well trained enough to ride in battle without any guidance from my hands; he could certainly follow the others without my help. And it freed my arms to allow me hold Gareth, to pull him back gently against my chest. He sighed and relaxed into my hold. I tilted my head down and whispered in his ear, “I’ve got you, little one. Just rest now.” 

He hummed happily and let his eyes drift closed, and we rode like that until early morning sunlight began filtering through the trees. 

 

We stopped in a clearing in the lee side of a hill a score of paces off the road. It wasn’t exactly secure, but as yet we had encountered no sign of pursuit and we all desperately needed rest - even the horses, who had been admirably cooperative as we pushed them for the last week. I swung down out of the saddle and reached up to help Gareth down, catching him as he listed badly without my support behind him. 

“Gareth,” I said sharply, trying to get his attention. He blinked blearily down at me but didn’t really seem to see me.  _ Shit _ . “Gawain! Give me hand,” I demanded, and the prince, to his credit, hurried over without comment. Together we lifted Gareth down from the horse and helped him get his feet under him, but he swayed badly so I kept a firm hold of his arm.  _ His arm _ . I felt like an idiot for forgetting that he had been bleeding from a wound on his shoulder. It had been so dark that I hadn’t been able to see until just now and I’d  _ forgotten _ . I gritted my teeth, pushed my feelings of self-loathing to one side, and scooped Gareth up into my arms. “He’s hurt,” I told Gawain, though it was abundantly obvious from the blood all down his right side, from shoulder to waist and wrist. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“Sure you are,” I muttered in reply, not believing it for a minute. 

Gawain helped me put out a bedroll on a mossy patch and I lowered Gareth gently onto it. Guinevere appeared by my shoulder just as Gawain and I started to peel back Gareth’s doublet and shirt to try and find the wound. “How is he?” she asked, concerned. 

“I don’t know yet,” I muttered, trying to repress the choking fear I could feel building in my throat, “I can’t tell if it’s blood loss or exhaustion or both or...something else.” Gawain and I exchanged a glance at that, but thankfully Guinevere let it slide. 

Gawain glanced over his shoulder, “Lynette, find something for everyone to eat. There should still be travelling rations in the packs. Bors, we crossed another stream just back there. We need fresh water. Go get some. Please.” 

While the prince gave orders, I succeeded in freeing Gareth of his heavy doublet and peeled back the blood-damp shirt revealing a gash across his shoulder and upper arm. It wasn’t terribly deep and probably did not even require stitches if properly tended, but was bad enough to bleed a great deal without treatment. And it had gone hours without treatment. I felt Gareth’s forehead and was immensely relieved to find it cool and dry, not fevered. The touch roused him slightly and he blinked blearily up at me. “You don’t need to fuss so.”

“You’re barely conscious,” I retorted, pulling at the laces of his shirt. 

He reached up and caught my wrist, stilling my fidgeting. “In the last twenty four hours I have been beaten, broken into a heavily guarded keep, broken out of the room they locked me, fought six men on my own, fought a sorcerer, helped rescue the queen, and ridden all night. One thing I haven’t done is sleep. For the love of God of let me rest. I just need rest.” 

“You’ve also bled a great deal,” observed Gawain, “But yes, I agree. With a little rest and that wound tended, you’ll be alright. It hasn’t just been a long day for you, it’s been a very difficult week. I’m frankly amazed you made it this far...” Gareth huffed, unimpressed, then his eyes closed again. Gawain glanced at me. “I think we can risk a fire to boil water. We need to make sure that wound doesn’t become infected.”

“Thank you,” I mouthed. 

Gareth napped as I carefully cleaned the wound, stirring only when I caused him some pain which I was careful not to do. “Come, sit up,” I murmured, “Let me bind the wound.” He blinked sleepily and grumbled, but let me put an arm around his back and help him sit up. I wrapped the wound carefully but firmly to help stop the bleeding. He leaned into me gently and I couldn’t help but smile. For all that Gareth was a sweet little thing (when he wasn’t rescuing queens), he very rarely allowed me to care for him like this. I stroked his hair and found myself rocking him very slightly. “I’ve got you, little one,” I whispered. And for the second time today he let me call him that when normally he would have complained about it. 

Gareth curled closer to my chest, fisted his hand in my doublet, and murmured, “Just hold me for a moment, please. I tortured two men and I just want you to hold me.”  So I did, not caring if the others were watching or not. 

 

After a time he sighed and sat up a bit, putting a little space between us. “Did I hear Gawain mention food? I’ve barely eaten...”

“Probably another reason you grew so weak,” observed Gawain, appearing just then and handing over bread and cheese and dried meat. “It’s not much, but if we eat and rest now and travel all afternoon we should be able to reach an inn this evening and have both a proper meal and real beds.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Gareth, taking the food and digging in like a starving man. 

Gawain sat beside us as we ate, and eventually told Gareth, “Lance and I talked last night, about what happened to you two when you were shot. I...don’t think either of you realized that the rest of us didn’t know any of the details. Any. I won’t share them with anyone, of course, I just wanted you to know that I’m aware that things are complicated right now.”

“Thank you,” I said, since Gareth’s mouth was too full for them to reply. “Tell me, since I’ve had other things on my mind, is Bors glaring at us or pretending like we don’t exist?”

Gawain cast a glance over my shoulder, since I was sitting with my back to the others, then reported, “Glaring, currently. I think he finds the affection between the two of you disconcerting.”

“Well, he can fuck off,” said Gareth harshly, “I’ve had a shit week and I wanted a hug and if he has a problem with that he can take it up with me.”

I watched Gawain choke down a laugh before replying seriously, “I’m sure that after what we saw last night he will be in no rush to do any such thing. But I can pass the sentiment along if you like.” 

“Please do,” grumbled Gareth, and in spite of the very obvious threat and the fact that he was clearly displeased, he looked so incredibly adorable in that moment that I had to resist the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair. (I was fairly certain that that would be a bridge too far even if it was me doing it).

Gawain left us shortly thereafter to go speak to Lynette, who was apparently rather upset that we hadn’t been able to fix her problem of having lost her home (and her sister and mother still being stuck inside). He had to explain to her that, with the Queen’s kidnapping, the situation had gone from complicated to staggeringly delicate, but that the King would find a way to help since our knowledge of the plot against the Queen would give him leverage in negotiations with the Saxons and anyone else who was involved. 

And speaking of the Queen, she joined us once Gawain had departed. “I understand from Bors and Lynette that I have you to thank, Gareth, for such a seamless rescue. I do hope you aren’t hurt too badly.”

“Oh not at all. Just very tired. It has been...well for lack of a better word it has been a  _ hell  _ of a week. I think that between that and then the blood loss my body decided it was going to force the issue of my getting rest. I’m feeling better now though, I promise.” 

“Well, it seems like Lance was taking very good care of you.” 

I blushed and looked down at remaining food, but Gareth merely smiled. “He always does.”

“You don’t always make it easy,” I grumped. 

“Says the worst patient ever,” retorted Gareth archely, and in spite of myself I began to laugh. It was the sort of slightly hysterical laughter that came after a time of great stress, and Gareth and Guin both soon joined in. Looking at them both I felt a wave of affection - and tried very hard to push aside thoughts of how close I had come to losing them. 

 

Bors offered to take watch (the man had many faults but shirking was never one of them) and the rest of us laid down to sleep (or try to) until noon. Gareth and I put our bedrolls together and as soon as I laid down he settled in next to me and pressed his face into my shoulder. “I want a hug,” he whispered, much as he had earlier. I smiled a little and tenderly pulled him close, laying on my side and curling my body around his smaller one. 

“I’ve got you,” I said for perhaps the third time that morning, but I still meant it with all my heart. We still had a dozen problems - not least of which the fact that I couldn’t be separated from Gareth for any length of time - but at least with Guin safe with us, and Gareth mostly unharmed and wrapped in my embrace, the world felt like a better place than it had since the ‘Green Knight’ had shown up on our doorstep a week ago. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	11. The Night After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth needs snuggles and Gareth gets snuggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's break. I'm writing a lot. I'm afraid it is unlikely that this pace will continue beyond next week (but we can always hope, right?). I also apparently have no sort of self-restraint or I'd be saving some of these chapters to post later...oh well *shrug*
> 
> Also, this chapter mostly exists to make Gareth (and Lance) feel better after a very shitty week. Enjoy *all* the fluff : )

We reached the inn well after dark and the innkeeper was loathe to let us in until Gawain flashed a silver coin at him. He then paid for three rooms and meals for all of us. I caught the man as he turned away and pressed two gold coins into his hand, saying lowly, “If a bath and a meal is delivered to the first room, I would very much appreciate it.” The innkeeper gaped down at the coins, probably roughly equivalent in value to what he would make in a full evening of good business. Looking back at me he nodded emphatically and promised that it would be done.

Gawain gave me a raised eyebrow look, but I ignored him in favor of picking up Gareth’s bags as well as mine and gesturing my still exhausted young lover into the inn. We took the room at the top of the stairs and I deposited our things out of the way along one wall. Gareth, meanwhile, sunk down onto the bed and just sat there with his elbows on his knees. I went over and knelt in front of him, ignoring the way my knees protested at the action. “I asked the innkeep to-”

“I heard,” Gareth said, interrupting me, “You really didn’t need to.”

“Yes, I really did,” I replied firmly. I was quiet for a moment, then added, “Just...let me take care of you tonight, please. You said the other day that you liked it when I do that.”

He nodded slowly. “I do...I’m just afraid I’m not going to be very good company tonight.”

“Oh Gareth,” I sighed, reaching up to wrap him in a hug, “You don’t need to be good company tonight. Not at all. That’s not what I want out of this - I just want to convince myself that you’re _here_ and _safe_ and at least mostly alright.” I was not good at emotional honesty like that, but after everything Gareth had been through in the past few days he deserved that at the very least.

He chuckled and rested his head on my shoulder. “I am. And thank you. Really.”

Just then there was a knock on the door. I rose and opened it, finding the innkeeper himself standing before me with a covered tray in his hands and a lad standing beside him. “I’ve brought your dinner, m’lord,” he said defferentially, nodding at the tray, “And my son here will bring in the tub and fill it if that pleases you.”

“Yes, thank you,” I told him, taking the tray and passing over a third gold coin. The man had no idea who I was, but the amount of gold I was throwing around so lightly turned me into “m’lord” in his mind immediately - and at the moment I didn’t give a damn if it also made us dangerously memorable.

While the boy (he was actually probably about the same age as Gareth had been when he became my squire) maneuvered the tub into the room and set about running back and forth to the kitchen to fill it with hot water, I set the tray down on the bed beside Gareth and tried to convince him to eat.

“I’m really not hungry, Lance.”

“You’re still recovering from bloodloss. Not to mention everything else.”

He pouted up at me, ruffled and adorable, and I smiled despite myself. But I was resolved not to budge on this particular issue. “Eat now while it’s hot,” I encouraged, “Then you can have a bath and get some rest.”

Gareth smiled a little and looked like he was about to say something cheeky, but stopped when the boy reappeared with another bucket of hot water. I silently cursed. This would have been a lot easier without the child’s inconvenient presence, then I could have given into my instinct to just sit beside Gareth and feed him. Instead I loomed and glared until he picked up the spoon and bowl of stew and began to eat slowly and methodically. It didn’t look like he was enjoying it much, but he was getting food into him and that was all I cared about just then.

*  *  *  *

I didn’t really taste the food as I ate, still moving in the same haze that had engulfed me as soon as we were away from the keep the night before. I couldn’t discern how much of it was exhaustion and how much of it was...other things. The last few days had been incredibly trying, what with getting shot and basically dying and then learning what Lance had done to save me and then walking into a heavily guarded keep alone and then torturing two men and...my mind spun and my stomach churned just at the thought of it. And all of this had just been in - what? Three days? Barely? All things considered, I figured I could be forgiven if I was a little distant and _oh so bloody tired_.

I started slightly when the door clicked shut and Lance said gently, “Come, the bath is ready. Unless you’re still hungry...?”

I glanced down at the bowl, which was still half full, and then shook my head. I most definitely was not hungry. Lance took the bowl from me carefully and returned it to the tray, then urged me to my feet. He began undoing the laces on my doublet and I roused myself enough to bat ineffectually at his hands and mutter, “I can do that myself, you know.”

“Uh-huh, and tonight I’m going to do it for you.”

“I am not a child,” I protested as he pulled the garment over my head.

“No,” agreed Lance with a dry little laugh, “No that you certainly are not.” I felt a pang at that thought, though I couldn’t put my finger on why, but then he went on, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t let me take care of you on occasion. I’m not doing it because I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself, I’m doing it because I love you.”

I blinked in astonishment. Lancelot did not say things like that. He did not communicate about emotional things. The fact that the other day he had admitted that he liked my ‘bossy’ side was a minor miracle; I’d never heard him lay his heart bare like this before, save perhaps that first night when he had cried on my shoulder after a nightmare, his barriers lowered by drugs and blood loss.

It occurred to me belatedly that I should probably say something, but when I opened my mouth to try Lance hushed me softly. “Just let me take care of you.” I nodded, but leaned forward and give him a quick kiss in thanks - just a press of lips on lips, but it meant so much more. Then I did as he had asked and let him take care of me without further protest. I balanced against him as he helped me out of my battered leather trousers, and I let him gently pull my shirt over my head. He undressed me as carefully as if I were made of glass, and I let him. Then he took my hand and helped me into the tub of steaming water, and if I’d been a little less tired and numb I would have joked about him treating me like a maiden.

Once I was seated safely in the tub, the hot water already doing wonders to relax my battered body, Lance stripped off his own shirt and boots, and picked up a flannel and bar of soap. “Are you going to wash me too?” I joked weakly.

“Unless you’d rather I not,” he replied.

I thought about it for a moment, thought about Lance’s hands on me, washing away the grime of the last week, easing the aches in my body, and I smiled. “No. No I think I’d quite like you to do it.”

It felt lovely, actually, Lancelot’s strong, sure hands moving over my back and arms. He was very thorough, and perhaps as gentle as I’d ever known. His fingers and eyes lingered on the bruises he had inflicted on my ribs, then examined every inch of the rest of me as he convinced himself that I was indeed there, safe and whole. I sensed that he wanted to ask about the scar just below my ribs, the mark from the wound that should have killed me - but he didn’t and I was grateful. I didn’t want to think about it just then.

Lance helped me tip my head back and washed my hair, apologizing when I winced at the feel of water against the wound in my head. He checked it then and murmured, “I don’t think it needs stitches, thank goodness, but you’ll likely have a scar there too. I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reassured him, leaning into the lovely feel of his hands on my scalp. He finished washing my hair slowly, letting me enjoy it, then stood and dried his hands and went over to the tray of food, returning with warm buttered bread. I let him feed me while I lounged in the warm water. It was silly and unnecessary, but it felt good - and I felt the icy knot in my chest beginning to thaw under Lance’s tender ministrations. When he went to get a towel that had been left on the bed without my noticing I protested, “No, come join me.”

“Not tonight,” replied Lance, “I don’t want you catching cold sitting in cool water.”

“You’ll keep me warm,” I argued, though somewhere in my foggy brain I knew that logic wasn’t perfect.

“Yes, I will,” agreed Lance, “In bed. Come on, stand up.”

It took me an embarrassingly long moment to coordinate my legs enough to get them under me. Lance gave me his hand and allowed me to use it to steady myself as I got very slowly and carefully to my feet. The room tilted disconcertingly for a moment, then stabilized. Nonetheless, I clutched at Lance’s arm as I stepped over the edge of the wooden tub. A part of my mind quietly marvelled at the fact that apparently I could go from highly competent assassin to fumbling child in the space of less than a day.

Lancelot gently wrapped the large towel around me and helped me dry off, standing me in front of the blazing fireplace all the while. This was a very nice room, actually, and I was beginning to wonder if Lance had perhaps bribed the innkeeper for more than just the bath and food. If so, then what had the man made of someone like Lance fussing over someone like me (even if we did currently look thoroughly ragged)? I wondered idly if he suspected that we were lovers - and found that, so long as he didn’t know who we were, I didn’t really care just then.

Lance very briefly left me standing there so he could go pull the covers back on the bed. Then the returned to my side, took the towel and folded it over the back of a nearby chair - and then proceeded to scoop me up into his arms and carry me to bed. I might have protested had I been less tired, but as it was I found it terribly sweet of him. He laid me down and tucked me in gently, but as he made to step away I reached out and caught his hand. “Don’t leave me.”

His expression, already softer than usual, melted into something painfully tender. “I won’t. I’m not. I promise, love. I’m just going put the bathtub out in the hall and then get undressed, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh,” I said, and released his hand, feeling foolish. “Yes. Of course. That’s a good idea.”

Lance managed to shove the heavy wooden tub out into the hall without making too much of a mess, then he shut and locked the door firmly. With that done he discarded the rest of his clothing in a heap and slipped into bed beside me. I immediately curled into his embrace, craving his closeness. We lay like that, pressed together, Lance gently stroking my hair for a long long while. We didn’t say another word - didn’t need to. I just clung to him and let the stress and pain of the last day slowly begin to seep away. I’d been...numb, for lack of a better word, since I’d broken myself out of the room in Lyonesse Keep. I’d done what I had to do but I felt terribly distant from the world afterward. And I was afraid what would happen when that faded, afraid I would be more upset by what I had done. But I didn’t. Lance’s gentle care all evening had helped me begin to feel like myself again, but just laying in his arms did the rest, and by the time I fell into a deep sleep I was warm and content. I’d meant what I told Lance earlier - I’d do it again if I had to. But I bloody well hoped that I didn’t have to for a good long time.

My last thought before drifting off was that Lance and I still needed to discuss this new bond of ours, and to try and figure out if it was affecting us in ways we hadn’t yet discovered. I had a sneaking suspicion that it was.

*  *  *  *

I lay awake for a long time after Gareth’s breathing had deepened in sleep and his body had gone limp in my arms. I was laying on my side, my weight and some of Gareth’s on my shoulder and I knew I would be terribly sore in the morning but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It was entirely worth it to feel my lover curled safe against my chest. I loved him so much it hurt - I only hoped he cared for me enough not to grow to hate me for binding us together as I had. Gareth was still so young, and in spite of his previous assurances I feared that he would grow tired of me as I grew older, or that he would find someone closer to his own age that he cared about more. I hoped I had not trapped him when I saved his life.

In sleep, Gareth looked like a young, fallen angel. And perhaps in a way he was, thanks to me. He seemed such a gentle soul and yet the previous night...As Gareth had said, he had done what he had to do. I just hadn’t expected him to be quite so good at it the first time he had to do it on his own. I had pulled him down to my level, and -

“Lance?” I looked down, startled to find Gareth awake - sleep-muddled but awake. “Lance, what’s wrong?”

“What do you...”

“You feel afraid. What’s wrong?”

 _Ah damn_. I’d nearly forgotten that Gareth could sense my emotions when we were touching, which we were most certainly doing just then.

“I...”

He sat up and ran his hands through my hair, then held my face gently. “Are you fretting about me leaving you?” The ‘again’ was implied in the tone rather than the words, but I knew it was there. I nodded, feeling (incongruously) tears sting my eyes. “Oh Lance,” Gareth whispered, leaning down and kissing me, “What can I do to convince you that that won’t happen?”

“I...I don’t...you’re stuck with me now, Gareth - you’re trapped. And I can’t help but feel guilty about that.”

“Well I don’t. I hate that it causes you pain, but I for one have no issue with being bound to you in that way.” He smiled softly. “I mean, since we can’t marry, I’ll take this in it’s place. Means more anyway - you saved my life by sacrificing a part of yourself to me and I only wish I could do something for you in return.”

“You...want to get married?” My mind had snagged on that word and barely heard the rest.

Gareth flushed. “I...didn’t mean to say that.”

 _Oh._ He must have felt my pain or seen it in my face for he hurried on. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean, I wasn’t going to mention it. Since it isn’t a possibility and really, Lance, you don’t seem the marrying type. I just...”

“I would marry you in a heartbeat,” I whispered, interrupting him, “I just can’t believe you want me that much...”

“Of course I do,” Gareth murmured, leaning down and kissing me again. I was laying on my back now and he melted into me. My arms came up to hold him close and we stayed like that for a long time, kissing and not speaking. Finally, Gareth put his head down on my shoulder. “I wish I had the energy tonight to show you how much I want you...” His words were slurred with exhaustion, almost as if he were drunk.

I stroked his hair gently. “Just sleep, little one. That’s all you need to do tonight.”

“We really need to talk about you calling me that...”

“Later. Sleep now. And I’ll try not to wake you again with my fretting.”

Gareth drifted off again, and I lay staring at the ceiling. But this time, though sleep eluded me for much of the night, I was careful to keep my mind on simpler things so as not to work myself into such a state that it pulled Gareth from his much needed rest - things like my memories of meeting him, training him, seeing him become a Knight. I realized at some point that nearly all of the major events in my life in the last fifteen years revolved around Gareth in some way. And he thought of marrying him...it made my heart do funny things in my chest and brought a foolish grin to my face. Eventually, as dawn lightened the sky outside the window, my own exhaustion finally caught up with me and I sunk into a restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love ; )


	12. The Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our friends are safely away from Lyonesse and on the road home, but that road proves to be just slightly rougher than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting this. Classes started again and, well, yeah. But at least this is another 5000+ word chapter, so hopefully that will make up for it a bit. 
> 
> Sad news: we are rapidly approaching the end of this part (there will either be one more very long chapter of two more slightly shorter chapters, depending on how the actual writing shakes out). 
> 
> The good news: I have at least two more parts of this series planned! And Part III will be much happier and less stressful and probably at least 75% pwp because Lance and Gareth deserve a fucking break.
> 
> [As always, this is un-beta'd. If there are glaring errors do kindly let me know so I can fix them : ) ]

When I woke the next morning, sunlight spilling warmly into the room and Lancelot’s arms securely around me, I was vaguely surprised that his ostentatious bribery with gold the night before had not (yet) come back to bite us. After all, the way our week was going it seemed that anything that could go wrong was likely to. But we had not been hauled from our beds; no one had attempted to assassinate us; and - wonder of wonders - it seemed that Gawain had even let us sleep in. 

I smiled and rolled off of Lance’s chest, stretching languidly. My ribs and shoulder twinged, and the arrow wound beneath my ribs made itself known with a sort of aching tightness, but in spite of all of that I felt  _ wonderful.  _ In fact, for the first time since I’d been shot I felt properly rested, energized even. Coupled with the sunlight bathing the room in soft golden light, I was in fact in a very good mood. I propped myself up on one elbow and decided to share some of that good mood with Lance by kissing him awake. 

Of course, Lancelot had been at least partly awake since I had first stirred - he slept very lightly, especially when we were not in Camelot. Still, he smiled when our lips met, and made a sleepy little noise of pleasure. When my hands found their way under his shirt, Lance’s eyes came open slowly. “Well good morning to you too.”

“Mmm,” I hummed against his lips, “It is. And I can think of a way to make it better.”

“I’ll bet you can,” he returned, laughter in his voice, but when he tried to roll us over so that he was on top I pinned his hands down to the bed and shook my head. Lance gave me a disbelieving look and tried to free himself. I laughed again.

“Oh no,” I said firmly, “None of that today.” I wanted to get Lance out of his head for a little while, show him I was alright, and repay him for taking such good care of me. I figured a good way to do that was give him a little of what he's been hinting he wanted - me being bossy. “Now, where is the oil?”

“St-still in my pack...”

I got up to retrieve it, giving Lance a warning to stay still, and yet when I straightened from fishing the vial out of his pack, I felt his arms slip around my waist. “Didn’t I tell you to stay on the bed?” He hummed into the back of my neck and reached lower. I was still naked from the bath the night before, and batted his hand away before it could touch my cock, which was very much interested in the proceedings. 

I turned around in his hold and gave him my best Look. “Sit. Down.” 

“Or what?” he retorted with a teasing, arrogant little smile on his face. 

Rather than respond verbally, I took a fistful of his shirt and pushed, backing him up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, then I pressed him down firmly so he was forced to sit, and loomed over him, remembering how much he had liked that when I’d done it in the forest a few days earlier. “Take your shirt off,” I said in my most no-nonsense tone. Lance looked rebellious for a moment, and I raised one eyebrow pointedly. He swallowed hard and did as I bid, casting the shirt aside. “Now lie down,” I instructed, and watched as Lance did so, his expression somewhat mutinous, but his pupils were already blown wide and his cock was flushed and hard. He was enjoying this (which was, naturally, the point). I suppressed a smile and shook my head. “No, face down.” Lance worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then rolled over, folding his hands above his head even though I had not asked him to. Grinning properly now, I crawled onto the bed and knelt between his thighs, pushing them apart. He whimpered and squirmed and I paused for just a moment to draw one hand gently down his spine. “Is this alright?” I asked softly. He nodded frantically in response and mumbled that he didn’t want me to stop, so I poured some of the now warm oil over my fingers and slid them into the cleft of his (beautifully toned) ass. He squirmed again. Lance didn’t enjoy this bit as much as I did, but I didn’t want to risk hurting him by rushing. 

He continued to squirm and generally make a nuisance of himself as I prepared him, and finally I stilled my fingers, rested my free hand on his lower back, and said in my firmest tone, “Stop fidgeting.” I was tempted to threaten to spank him if he didn’t listen, but we hadn’t ever discussed that possibility and given Lance’s rather unfortunate upbringing there was no way I was going to hit him, even gently, without knowing it was alright with him. Instead I added, “If you can’t hold still I’ll stop. Maybe go get some breakfast...” He moaned softly and went still, though from the tension in his muscles I could tell it was a challenge for him. “Good,” I murmured, rubbing his back for just a moment before returning to my earlier ministrations.

*  *  *  *

I panted with the effort of staying still as Gareth’s fingers moved inside of me. I didn't think he'd really leave me lying there while he went downstairs to eat - I could feel how hard he was - but I wasn't going to take the risk, especially not with the way Gareth was bossing me about this morning. His no nonsense tone and firm touch sent pleasure humming through my veins, and feeling of being face down on the bed with him between my legs made my stomach knot up in all the best ways - it was vulnerable and humiliating and wonderful because this was  _ Gareth  _ and I could trust him with anything. 

Gareth loved it when I prepared him before sex, but I preferred the act itself, how overwhelming it was. Still, at this point I was just happy any time Gareth was touching me since it relieved the otherwise persistent cold emptiness in my chest. I breathed deeply and tried to relax into the sensations, and felt a pleasant fogginess seeping in around the edges of my mind.

Then, abruptly, Gareth’s fingers were gone. I'm pretty sure I whimpered at the loss. A moment later, though, I felt his cock, and his fingers dig into my hips. I'd have bruises there later, I thought muzzily, and smiled a little. 

Gareth wasn't terribly gentle, but I liked that. Especially today, especially after everything. He laid over my back and rolled his hips, drawing a long, low moan from my mouth. Then, sitting back, he set about fucking me properly. I fisted my hands in the sheets and lost myself to the sensation. It was perfect, like Gareth could tell exactly what I wanted - and with a jolt it occurred to me that maybe he could, thanks to our newfound connection. Meanwhile, I felt warm all over as his touched filled me both literally and otherwise. 

*  *  *  *

Lance slowly went limp under me, but I could tell that it was a good kind of limp. I could feel his pleasure feeding back into me through our newfound connection and it was bloody fantastic. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the dual sensations and tried to make it as good as possible for Lance because  _ god did he ever deserve it _ . I put my hands on his back, let him feel my weight pressing him down into the bed, and kept up a brutal pace. I could tell he was enjoying the submission, though for different reasons than I did. When Lance made love to me I felt safe and loved and cared for and I adored it. Lance, however, was enjoying the faint humiliation of being pinned down and fucked by another man. Like me, through, he seemed to be enjoying the way it made his mind go quiet as the world and all it's stress fell away, usurped by pleasure both physical and emotional. And underpinning it all was his love for me, thrumming and deep and almost painful in its intensity. It made me shudder pleasantly and wish Lancelot could feel my emotions the way I felt his. Since I couldn't make that happen, I bent all of my energy to his pleasure here in this moment, and later I would try to find more ways to show and tell him that he meant as much to me as I did to him. 

He came suddenly body shuddering and convulsing with pleasure, and pulled me over with him. I gasped and curled over his back as the aftershocks ran through me, then relaxed against his body for a moment, drifting in a warm haze. 

I gathered myself slowly and sat up, very gently withdrawing from Lance’s body, but I kept my hands on him and could feel both his contentment and vulnerability. It was strange to think of Lancelot as vulnerable in any way, but I knew well enough how being on the receiving end of sex could make me needy for his arms around me, holding me safe. I’m smaller than Lance, but I laid down next to him and did my best. Almost immediately, Lance curled into my chest, pressing himself close to my body, happy and flooded with a love for me so strong it brought tears to my eyes. With a shaking hand, I stroked his hair gently and murmured sweet little nothings until we both drifted off back to sleep in spite of the late hour of the morning. 

 

We were woken a short time later by knocking on the door and Gawain’s voice asking if we were alright. “We’re fine, we’re fine,” I called back, blinking in the sunlight coming through the window.

“I’m not used to either of you sleeping until nearly noon.”

“Noon?” Lancelot muttered muzzily into my shoulder, “Holy hell.”

“Oy!” I protested, “It’s been a rather long week for both of us, if you hadn’t noticed. And just yesterday you were telling me I needed to rest!”

“Yes, well, now I’m telling you to get downstairs and eat,” laughed Gawain, “I’ve already sent Bors ahead to Camelot to pass on the good news that we were successful, but I’d still feel better if we got further from Lyonesse.”

He had a point there, so Lance and I dragged ourselves, wincing and stiff, from the bed. The bruises on my ribs were considerably more impressive than they had been the day before, and my injured shoulder protested at every movement. Lance, meanwhile, looked marginally less like death than he had yesterday, but the skin around his eyes was still bruised with exhaustion, and I fancied that the lines around his mouth were a little deeper than they had been. I reached out and touched his face gently, trying to block out the feelings that rippled along our connection. 

“What is it?” he asked, attempting lightness, but sounding defeated, at least to my ears. 

“I was just thinking...we could both use a break. We both need one, badly. God, I cannot wait to sleep in our own bed back in Camelot.”

“Well, sooner we get going the sooner we’ll get back, I suppose,” he mused. There was a pause, and Lance glanced down at his feet, then he asked softly, “I look terrible, don’t I?”

“You look like you’ve had a rough week. So do I. So do we all. Because we have.”

“Yes but-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he protested. 

I raised one eyebrow pointedly. “Oh yes I do. You were going to make a comment about how it shows more on you because you’re ‘old’-” I made sure he could hear the sarcasm dripping from that last word, “- and  _ no _ . It doesn’t.” Lance looked like he was going to argue, so I leaned up and kissed him hard, tangling one hand in his hair to keep his head still. “I love you,” I murmured against his lips, “I would have thought that was fairly obvious by now, but I’ll say it again because you obviously need to hear it:  _ I love you _ .” I waited until Lance nodded his assent, then pulled back. “Now, let’s get lunch. I’m half starved.” 

However he caught my arm as I turned away to finish dressing, and drew his fingers lightly along my side where the dark bruises stood out vivid against my skin. “I...I still can't quite believe that I did this to you...” he whispered hoarsely, sounding horrified. 

“We both did what we had to,” I replied, surprising a grimace and the thought of the brutal things I had accomplished the other night. 

“Did you...” Lance glanced away awkwardly and through the connection I could feel his extreme discomfort, “Did you  _ enjoy  _ it? I- I only ask because you seemed so...so calm and...tranquil afterward.”

I should my head. “No. I'm not that much of a masochist, Lance. It hurt. And it hurt you. And I'd rather not have to do it again.” I paused and cast my mind back to that sun-lit glade and what had happened there. “Let's pass off...whatever it was that happened between us there as a combination of the extreme stress we were under and the relief that we were both alive and mostly well. Yes?”

Lance nodded, visibly relieved, and I made a mental note (not for the first time) that he and I really needed to have an in depth conversation or two about bedroom preferences that went beyond the fact that I usually preference to be on the receiving end of sex and that he occasionally liked it when I was pushy and topped.  Because while I most certainly didn't have a thing for Lance  _ beating  _ me as he had had to do two days earlier, I  _ did _ have a few ideas for ways we could have some fun. 

 

*  *  *  *

I felt...odd. The week weighed heavily on my shoulders, fatigue from our long, stressful days on the road pressing me down as we ate our breakfast. Yet knowing we had the Queen back safe and were (nearly) away from Lyonesse I felt lighter than I had in days, and Gareth’s antics earlier in the morning had done an admirable job of loosening the stressed knot in my chest. I always seemed to forget how relaxed sex with him made me feel - especially on the exceedingly rare occasions that he topped. I mentally conceded that perhaps it needed to become a less rare occurrence. Unfortunately, after being in physical contact with him all night and most of the morning, I was feeling his absence acutely - even though he was barely out of arm's reach. I hated to believe that the aching  _ emptiness _ was becoming worse, but...I had to acknowledge that it at least  _ felt _ like it was. Not only that, but as we finished our meal I noticed that my hands had begun to tremble very slightly. 

After breakfast, we gathered our things and met down in the stable to be on our way. As Gawain had said, Bors was already gone. Lynette still looked vaguely rebellious, but it was clear she and Guinevere had struck up a (not even remotely surprising) friendship. Gawain and I shared a brief, amused glance, and mounted up. I winced slightly as I did, feeling the soreness of my morning activities. Unconsciously, my gaze flicked over to Gareth, and I caught a fleeting dirty smirk on his face as if he knew  _ exactly  _ what had caused my discomfort. And doubtless I’d be feeling it most of the day; as a general rule, fucking just before spending hours on horseback isn’t a particularly bright idea, though goodness knows Gareth has survived it often enough these past few months. 

Today, Guinevere rode with me and Gareth returned to his own mount. I tried not to mind. By all rights I ought to have enjoyed it; she was a beautiful woman and a good friend. Yet all I could think was how much better it would have felt to have Gareth’s wiry solidness pressed up against me instead. 

Almost as if she could sense my thoughts, Guinevere said, “You know, I'd be happy to ride alone if you'd rather share with Gareth.” 

I chuckled a little at how well Guin knew me. “While yes I'd rather do that, I feel better having you here with me. We've just got you back, I'm not putting you at risk again anytime soon.”

She huffed but didn't argue. Instead she observed, “There's something different between you and Gareth.” 

“Yes,” I agreed, but didn't elaborate.

Guin knew better than to press, but she did ask, “Are you both alright? He looks like he's been through Hell and back, and your eyes say the same thing.”

I was quiet for a long moment, then said, “We had a rough week, but we’re both alive so no complaints. I...we’ll tell you when we’re back in Camelot so that we can talk to Arthur at the same time. I'd rather not tell the story more than once.”

“But you are both alright?” 

“We’re alive and together.” I couldn't quite bring myself to say we were  _ alright  _ when I still had a gaping hole in my soul and I remained uncertain that Gareth was unscarred from the whole experience, but luckily Guin let it go. 

 

It was a sunny day and we moved along at a brisk pace. Nonetheless, I found myself looking over my shoulder frequently, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. The rest of this journey had gone so badly that I was more than half convinced that we were going to be ambushed at any point. We weren't. But unfortunately, my inkling of danger proved correct before the day was out. 

Just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the sound of hoofbeats drumming on the road behind us reached our ears. I cursed colorfully under my breath and looked to Gareth and Gawain. Judging by the looks on their faces they had had the same thought as I – that it was monumentally unlikely that those of beats belonged to anyone other than soldiers from Lyoness.

"What do you think?" asked Gawain, "Do we get off the road and try and hide from them?"

Gareth grimaced. "If their sorcerer is in any fit state to be helping them, hiding may not be an option." I swore again. But Gareth's brain was clearly already working ahead trying to puzzle through the problem, for he said, "Lance, you ride ahead with Guinevere and Lynette. Gawain and I will stay here and deal with the soldiers."

“No.” I said firmly. “No, if you’re staying, so am I.” I wasn't sure how much of my insistence was fear of being away from Gareth, how much is because I was spoiling for a fight, and how much is because I truly believed my presence would make a discernible difference. I just knew that I wasn't leaving them. 

Gawain shook his head. “I know you two are good, but-”

The hoof beats were getting closer. “Give me your bow and go!” I snapped. 

Gareth backed me up. “It’s Guinevere they want, so she can’t stay here. Lynette should go with her. And unless you want them going off on their own then one of us has to go to. You’re the Heir; it should be you. You’re the three we can’t risk losing.” This was true, but it also meant that Gareth and I would be facing an unknown number of armed men alone. 

Gawain glared at both of us, but didn’t try to pull rank. He also didn’t move, and neither did, frantically casting about for another solution. After half a dozen heartbeats, Gareth lost patience with both of us and snapped, “ _ Now! _ ” 

He had learned that tone either from Arthur or I, but rather than contemplate it, I simply obeyed. It was the kind of voice that compelled obedience, and if we hadn’t been once again facing potentially dire circumstances I’m sure that hearing Gareth talk like that would have done things to me. As it was, I was down and off my horse in a blink, leaving Guin to settle herself more comfortably in the saddle and take up the reins. Gawain likewise dismounted, then ran to Lynette’s mount, throwing himself on in front of her - without frightening the poor animal or kicking her, which was rather impressive. Lynette wrapped her arms around him without being told, and a moment later the two horses were off down the road at a ground-eating canter. I hauled myself up onto Gawain’s mount, which looked less than pleased by the abrupt and (in its mind) inexplicable change. Still, it was a well-trained warhorse, and he did know me, so hopefully he wouldn’t take a mind to unseat me in the middle of a fight. With that happy thought, I drew my sword and dagger and turned my attention to the task at hand. 

Gareth and I had bows - or rather, Gareth’s horse and Gawain’s horse both had bows and quivers on the saddles - and now we each nocked an arrow as we waited for the approaching riders to come into view around a bend in the road. By unspoken agreement we made no effort to hide ourselves or ambush them. We were simply going to fight. It was a stupid decision, since we had little idea how many we were facing (more than three and probably less than twenty, based on the sound of the horses hooves on the hard-packed dirt). Perhaps I wasn’t the only one spoiling for a fight. 

And as it turned out we were certainly in for one. Ten men on horseback came pounding into sight, but pulled up somewhat when they saw us in the road. That hesitation was very much to our advantage. Gareth and I each took out one with a well-placed arrow, and Gareth managed to badly wound a second before they were upon us and we exchanged bow for sword. I allowed myself a grim smile and set to work, trying to ignore how unnaturally heavy my weapons felt in my hands.

*  *  *  *

Two against ten - well, against seven thanks to the bows - were not terrible odds given that it was Lancelot and I, but they certainly not comfortable ones either. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that Lance was fighting like a madman, with a terrifying grin on his face that clearly gave his opponents pause. But I didn’t have much attention to spare for my companion, since our attackers seemed to have decided that I was the smallest and weakest link - or perhaps they recognized me as the man that had hurt and humiliated them in Lyonesse keep. I was more well-trained, though, and clearly had more experience fighting from horseback. With my knees, I urged my mount in an arch toward the side of the road and back to the middle to avoid being surrounded by the six men who had set their sights on me. And I aimed to kill. Often in a fight I would try to merely injure or incapacitate, but against odds like these I had little choice. Three men fell to my sword and dagger in the first few moments of the fight. The remaining three backed off slightly and tried to regroup, but I didn’t give them a chance, riding right into the midst of them and laying about with all the skill I had developed in some dozen years of instruction by the best knights and cavalrymen in the country. Another man fell and a second backed away, bleeding heavily, giving me enough breathing room to spare a glance Lancelot’s direction.

Lance was holding his own against the other four - in fact, two were already dead and one was nursing an injured arm - until one of the remaining soldiers had the presence of mind to dismount and grab at him, hauling him out of the saddle. Lance landed hard on his back and just lay there. I couldn’t immediately tell if he was unconscious or had simply had the wind knocked out of him, but either way he was terribly vulnerable. I dispatched the man I was currently engaged with and wheeled my mount to go protect Lance. 

Before I could get to him, however, one of the soldiers moved so that he blocked my path, and my erstwhile opponent joined him. I dispatched them both as quickly and efficiently as I knew how (and didn’t even think about it because these men were standing between me and the person I cared about most in the world), but it delayed me a few precious moments. When my horse finally shouldered its way past the mount of the now-dead Lyonesse soldiers, I was just in time to see a sword descend toward Lancelot’s chest. 

I’m fairly sure I cried out. I know made some noise of denial as Lance’s body jerked, partly in an attempt to avoid the blade and partly in pain when he wasn’t entirely successful. I had thrown a knife at his attacker before I’d even thought it through, but Lance had responded as well, driving a dagger of his own into the man’s leg. He dropped like a stone while I threw a second knife at the final soldier, didn’t even wait to see him fall before I was down off my horse and on my knees beside Lance, heart in my throat. But he was - thank the gods - already sitting up slowly. 

“Lance! Lance are you-”

He coughed a little and nodded. “I’m fine. I think.” 

My hands went to his chest, prodding gently, checking for broken ribs. I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t feel any, though judging by Lance’s winces he was going to have some truly impressive bruises. I did, however, discover a long, shallow cut. “It’s nothing,” he assured me, slowly getting his feet under him. I glowered. “You can look at it later, once we’ve caught up to the others.”

“If you insist,” I grumbled, looking up at him from where I was still crouched on the ground.

“I do.” 

*  *  *  *

We rode hard in the hopes of catching up to Gawain, Guinevere, and Lynette, and as the day wore on I found myself struggling to stay upright in my saddle. My back ached, my ribs twinged with every breath I took, and the jarring of the horse’s canter certainly wasn’t helping. I was also increasingly disturbed by the realization that I was suffering from some level of physical weakness. I had to assume that it was related to my bond with Gareth - it felt like a less severe version of what had happened when we were separated while he was in Lyonesse castle, but it had been creeping up on me since we had gotten out of bed that morning. I wondered if it had in fact been creeping up on me all along, and I just hadn’t noticed until now because we had been pushing ourselves so hard and had so much else on our minds. Regardless of when it had started, and regardless of the fact that it was less severe, it was still certainly noticeable, and certainly getting worse, and that was deeply concerning to me. Still, I said nothing because I didn’t want to worry Gareth. 

Early in the evening, we came to a large meadow and slowed the horses to a walk to briefly discuss if we should stop for the night, but. I pushed for us to continue. I had a hunch that we might run into Gawain if we did, for I knew what  _ I  _ would do in his situation, waiting for friends but knowing that I might be pursued by enemies - I would wait near open ground where I had cover and could easily see approaching riders. 

As we neared the far treelike, I was pleased to discover that I was indeed correct, and Gawain was waiting for us in the sheltered darkness just inside the trees. “Nice of you two to join us,” he said blandly, but his eyes showed his profound relief. 

“Is there a place near here to camp?” asked Gareth.

“There’s a stream nearby. We have the horses tethered near it. You want to stop here today?”

I was mildly surprised that Gawain was so directly asking Gareth’s opinion, just as I had been a bit taken aback when we split up that the Heir hadn’t questioned Gareth’s authority. “Lance is hurt.” 

“I’m fine!” I protested tetchily. 

Gareth turned to glare at me, but it was Gawain who spoke. “Well, let’s take some time to look you over and make sure you’re actually alright. Then, if you feel up to it, we’ll keep riding - we already lost all of this morning, and I for one will feel much better when we are back safe in Camelot.”

“I don’t need-” I started to say, but Gawain cut me off. 

“I don’t want you passing out like Gareth did the other night. It won’t hurt to let Gareth assure himself that you’re alright, and to tend any wounds you have.” 

I might have argued more, but the look of deep concern on Gareth’s face and the feel of hot sticky blood trickling down my ribs made me give in, albeit gracelessly. “Fine. Lead the way.” 

The stream proved to be little more than a burbling brook, so narrow a child could have stepped across it without getting their feet wet. I sat down with my back to tree and watched as Lynette and Gawain began to look through the packs for food. We had replenished our supplies at the inn, so at least we would have a halfway decent meal before continuing on our way. Guinevere, meanwhile, hovered while Gareth helped me out of my doublet and shirt. She had a speculative look on her face as if she were trying to work out what what had changed between Gareth and I, why we moved around each other in a way that was subtly but distinctly different than when we had left Camelot just days prior. If I could feel it, she could most certainly see it. I was just pleased that she let it be for now.

Gareth checked me again for broken bones, and it took all my willpower not to let my face give away just how much his touch affected me; I seemed never quite to realize how _wrong_ things felt until Gareth's hands were on me and everything was  _right_ again, however briefly. Then Gareth inspected the very shallow but long cut across my ribs on the left side of my chest. In truth, I was lucky not to been hurt far worse either by the fall from horseback or the soldier's blade. Judging by the look in Gareth's eyes the same thought crossed his mind, but he made no comment, just said, "Just let me clean this and put some salve on it, and then we can be on our way if you insist."

"I do," I said firmly. He didn't argue, but he did go so far as to wrap gauze around my ribs to cover the minor wound. I thought this somewhat unnecessary, but decided to keep the peace. I also didn’t have the energy to even bicker about something so small.

*  *  *  *

We set out again, Guinevere still on her own mount while Gawain and Lynette shared. I made no comment, but Lance and I did share an amused smile behind their backs. Lance and I naturally rode beside each other as we pushed on through the night. We hung back a little from the others, keeping a cautious ear out for any signs of further pursuit, though I didn’t expect any. I doubted that the sorcerer had enough physical forces to keep throwing them at us, especially now that we were nearing the edge of Lyonesse’s territory. As to magical attacks, well, I hoped that the was not powerful enough to strike at so great a distance - and I privately thought that I may have done enough damage to his hand to hamper is ability as well. That had certainly been my intent. 

I let my eyes drift sideways to Lancelot. There was something wrong that I couldn’t put my finger on. When I had touched him earlier I had felt a heavy tension of some sort underlying his other emotions, but as so often happened now when we were in contact his overwhelming love for me drowned out many of his other feelings, obscuring them in such a way that I couldn’t readily distinguish them without great effort. In this case, I doubted it was just the stress of being on the road, it had felt like more than that, but...I gave myself a mental shake. I was probably just overthinking things. 

Lance caught me looking and offered up a half-smile. I smiled back. In the darkness it was hard to see his expression clearly, and his eyes were shrouded in shadow, giving him an odd, otherworldly look for a moment. But then, with his ebony hair and pale grey eyes and fine-boned features, Lance had always had a faint look of  _ other _ about him. Unsurprising, perhaps, seeing as he was  _ a quarter god _ \- and never mind that I’d not yet had the chance to even begin to process that properly. In moments like this, one black shadow moving among a dozen others in the nighttime forest, he looked rather god-like, looked like he was related to the Morrigan, and I a felt a little shiver - part thrill part fear - go through me. But then Lance said, “You fought exceptionally well today,” and the illusion shattered. I went warm at his words and found myself grinning broadly. That was high praise indeed coming from him. He went on,“I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve ever met who could have taken on such uneven odds as handily as you did." I ducked my head bashfully, vaguely surprised that I wasn’t actually glowing with the effect of his words. There was a pause, then Lance added softly, “You’ll be an incredible Champion.” I imagined for a moment that his voice sounded sad, but the look he gave me was so full of pride and love that soon forgot. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I exist (sort of) on tumblr at gwyndulac. It's a side-blog for my writing stuff, and it's new enough that I haven't had time to put much over there yet - but you're more than welcome to come say hi anyways!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	13. Deus Ex Machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our travelers finally make it safely home to Camelot, but Lancelot is still suffering the side-effects of saving Gareth's life, and there is still the little problem of a mad sorcerer in Lyonesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is drama, angst, (literal) deus ex machina, and then smut, in that order. It is also 5900 words, which will hopefully make up for the week+ delay in getting it posted. (School is kicking my ass, and this isn't really the sort of thing I can work on while sitting in class...)
> 
> (Also, yes, this is the last chapter of Part II, but I have more planned, have no fear)

I was surprised - albeit pleasantly  so - that the remainder of our journey back to Camelot was entirely uneventful. It was also short, for we travelled fast and made good time, in spite of one day of hard rain, which we chose to ride through. It was a rough journey for all of us - we rode hard, camped all but one night, ate poorly, and slept little. But it seemed that Lancelot in particular suffered; he was very quiet and looked even more exhausted than the rest of us. 

We were welcomed home like conquering heroes for returning the Queen safely, but Arthur swept us off to his study almost immediately. Bors had already given the King a basic report, but naturally he wanted to hear from the rest of us too - and convince himself that Guinevere was truly home and well. 

Of course, Arthur knew from his own experience how rough it was to spend many days on the road, so we were given time to wash and change into new clothes, and eat a hot meal. Lance and I, now used to living in each other’s pockets, naturally did all three of these thing together. As we ate, he said softly, “I think we need to tell Guin and Arthur about the Morrigan thing - but I’d rather not involve Lynette or anyone else in that.”

I nodded in agreement, swallowed the bite of heavenly warm, buttered bread I was eating , and replied, “Yes, that’s a good idea. I think to will be easy enough to leave that out without skipping anything important, then we can talk to Guin and Arthur about it after the others leave.”

As it turned out, it was even easier than expected, because Gawain did most of the talking, and he summarized the time from when we met Lynette to the night at Lyonesse Castle with the sentence, “Naturally we travelled to Lyonesse as quickly as was reasonable, all things considered, and planned on the way.” The rest he told in more detail, with Arthur asking the occasional question of him or Lynette, and Lance and I adding in a few comments. I told as briefly as I could about my hours alone inside the Castle, but Arthur’s eyes told me that he could easily infer the violence that I was leaving out with phrases like, “I dealt with the guards in the gatehouse." Mostly though, the King just listened intently, and I could almost see him strategizing, placing the information we were giving him on his mental map of British-Saxon politics.

The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time Arthur was satisfied. Lynette was then swept off by Guinevere's ladies-in-waiting to be treated like the visiting princess that she was. Gawain declared he was going to go sleep for a week, and left. Guinevere then turned a pointed look at Lancelot and I.

"So," she said, I believe you two of the two of us and further explanation."

"Guin!" protested Arthur, "they've just spent three hours explaining themselves! They deserve a rest – and so do you." Arthur sounded vaguely desperate, and I noted that he hadn't let go of Guinevere's hand since we had returned. The past week and a half had surely been held for him to, worrying about her and the rest of us.

"No," Lance said softly, "Guin's right."

That earned us a serious look. "Well, go on then."

Lance and I shared a long look, then I began. "When Bors gave his report, did he mention that I was very badly hurt on our way to Lyoness?" Arthur's expression darkened and Guinevere made a little pained noise. I hurriedly reassured them, "I'm all right now. I have Lance to thank for that. Well…Lance and his grandmother."

"The Morrigan?" gasped Arthur, glancing between us sharply, "What the hell happened?"

So we explained, in far more detail than I was entirely comfortable with. But I knew it was necessary, especially since I was concerned that Lance was still suffering the negative effects. What I wasn't expecting was for Lance to openly acknowledge this, but he did.

Glancing down at his clasped hands, he said softly, "I… I think it's only fair to tell you that…what she did…I…" He licked his lips looked up at Arthur and said, "You need to make Gareth your champion. I can't do it anymore. I get terribly ill when I'm separated from him, and even were in close proximity I feel…wrong. Weak."

I gaped at him, then slid off the couch where we had been sitting beside each other and drop to my knees in front of him, taking his hands. "Oh Lance, why didn't you say something?"

He looked to me for a long moment, expression closed, then carefully but firmly withdrew his hands from my grip. "Because, I knew you would do this. I… I didn't want you to feel guilty. I don't regret what I did and I don't want you to either."

I shook my head at him helplessly and said again, "Oh Lance…"

"Don't! That's what I don't want! Don't fucking pity me!" he snapped, standing up quickly. I rose with him intent on continuing arguments, but then his eyes clouded and he lost his balance and so instead I reached out to catch him.

Arthur was looking at us with an expression on his face that said he was still trying to process what we had told him, but was vaguely horrified by some of the implications. Guinevere, meanwhile, said, "I'm going to fetch Morgan."

Lance protested that he didn't see how that would help, but we all ignored him, and I helped him sit back down, then curled up against his side.

"How bad is it really, Lance?" asked Arthur quietly.

I watched as the two men had a silent conversation, and I ruthlessly suppressed the jealousy that welled up in my chest. Arthur and Lancelot had known each other so long that I sometimes resented it, resented all those years they had been close before Lance and I were more than passing acquaintances – before I had ever even met him. I would have given almost anything to have had as much time to be with him. Beside me he was nodding slowly, apparently in response to a silently-asked question. Without breaking eye contact with Arthur, Lancelot said softly, "I can't know for sure, but yes, I… I think I'm dying."

*  *  *  *

The idea of dying wasn't new to me, and didn't scare me. The noise Gareth made, however, just about broke my heart, and the shock on his face told me that I had indeed done a good job of hiding how badly I was feeling. I offered him a weak smile, and opened my mouth, intending to reassure him. What came out instead was, "Oh Gareth, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you… I never wanted to hurt you."

"I… You… I thought you were doing all right! I mean," I watched him pause and try to gather his thoughts, "I knew there were still issues, but I didn't think that things were getting so much worse!"

"Like I said, I didn't want you to know…"

Before Gareth could respond, Guinevere returned, Morgan in tow, dressing gown askew and hair piled messily atop her head, giving her the air of a mad sorceress (which, knowing her as well as I did, was almost laughable). The expression on the enchantress’ face, however, told me that Guinevere had already informed her about some what was going on. Morgan paused and looked at Gareth and I, then her eyes went unfocused like they did when she was looking at something with her magical sight. It only took a moment before her expression clouded. “Great good Goddess, what did She  _ do  _ to you two?”

Arthur scowled. “What is it Morgan?”

“I...A bond like that should go both ways, otherwise it will just...drain the partner lacking a bond.” Her eyes focused on me now, and she looked sad. “Lancelot...”

“I know,” I assured her, hating again that I seemed incapable of  _ not  _ hurting people one way or another, “I know that I’m dying.”

Guinevere clapped a hand over her mouth, and Gareth simply tilted his head to rest it against my shoulder, radiating grief that even I could feel. 

“Can you do something about it?” demanded Arthur, his voice tight in the way I recognized from when he was trying very hard to keep a rein on his emotions. The last time I had heard it was before Badon, when we faced ten to one odds against a Saxon horde.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” murmured Morgan, “That is beyond mortal power.” The King sunk his head in his hands and Guinevere bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Gareth just stayed where he was, curled against my side on the couch. Morgan looked around the silent room, and added softly, “The Morrigan could do it, and it sounds as though She cares enough about Lancelot that She would want to...It is possible that Nimue could, although I for one am still not clear on whether or not she is a goddess or just an exceptionally powerful fae...Either way, the largest obstacle seems to be getting the attention of one who can do this.”

The rest of the evening was, unsurprisingly, very subdued, and Gareth and I retreated to my rooms quite early to sleep off our journey and the subsequent emotional turmoil. My limbs felt like lead, and I would have fallen into bed fully dressed if not for Gareth. He sat me down and helped me out of my boots and doublet while I pretended not to notice that his hands were trembling very slightly. He wouldn’t quite look at me, and hadn’t said anything since the revelation earlier in the evening - but he also hadn’t let me out of arm's reach. So I sat quietly and let him undress me and put me to bed. Then he stripped off his own clothes and tossed them over a chair, uncharacteristically messy, before crawling into bed with me. 

Gareth stretched out with his head pillowed on my chest, clinging to me like he was drowning and I was his salvation. I returned his desperate embrace just as fiercely and felt the hollowness ease slightly. Everything felt better with Gareth near, and yet as the pain receded under his touch I felt my body finally give in to the exhaustion I’d been fighting for the last several days, and was pulled into dark, cloying blackness.

*  *  *  *

I felt Lance’s breathing ease and deepen as he fell asleep, and I tried to synchronize my own breathes to his, but I stayed awake. I couldn’t bear the thought of giving up a single waking moment with him. So I lay there and listened to his heart beating and prayed for the first time since I was a child. But now I wasn’t praying to the Christian God as the village priest had demanded, I was praying to the Morrigan to come save Lance as She had saved me. I closed my eyes and put all of my anguish at the thought of losing Lancelot into my prayers and tried to picture Her at the same time. I had no idea how to do this, how to get Her attention or call Her to me, I just knew that She was the only one Morgan knew for sure could keep Lance from  _ dying _ \- my mind stumbled over that word every time I tried to confront it. 

I felt tears prick my eyes and stopped fighting them back as I had been doing all evening. Lancelot was soundly asleep, so I was confident I wouldn’t disturb him, and the very idea of being without him hurt far more than getting shot had. I should have died that night, I thought idly as I continued to pray, my tears dampening Lance’s chest beneath my cheek; I would rather have died that night that live to watch him suffer, and ultimately to lose him. 

“No, you had no business dying that night. No reason to be so... _ dramatic _ .” 

I sat up with a stifled curse, half falling off the bed, and stared wide-eyed at the vaguely woman-shaped shadow in the darkest corner of the room. “You...You came. You’re here. Can You help him? Please?”

“Yes, yes. I can and I will.” She sounded vaguely uncomfortable with my desperation, which was a bit odd considering that as the goddess of death and battlefields I was fairly sure she would be familiar with such pleas. Maybe it was different because this was family? That seemed almost too much to hope. 

The Morrigan came forward into the faint light of a single guttering candle I had left burning and looked down at the two of us with an arch expression that slowly, very slowly, melted into something marginally more compassionate, though still not quite human. “I’ll have to do for him what I did for you.” My mind scrabbled to catch up and understand what She meant, but She seemed unwilling to wait. “He is dying because I gave you a piece of his soul, but did not complete the exchange-” She did not explain herself, just went on, “-so I will need-”

“A piece of my soul, yes, whatever you need. Please, just help him.” I sounded desperate and I did not care in the least. 

I expected Her to be at least vaguely annoyed at me, but instead Her expression softened further, became - briefly - maternal. “It will hurt you, but it will get better. And then you will be bound together.”

“And Lancelot will be alright? He’ll survive?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it. Please.” 

She reached out, placed one hand on my forehead and the other on Lance’s. The fact that he had not stirred through this whole conversation told me how deeply worn out he was, for normally Lancelot woke at the slightest disturbance. And then I lost the ability to think clearly as something deep inside of me twisted and pulled and finally snapped. I would have fallen the rest of the way off the bed if not for the Morrigan’s steadying, firm hand. 

Lancelot sat up abruptly, jerked into wakefulness by what She had just done. He looked sharply back and forth between the two of us, me gasping silently for breath as my body and brain tried to adjust, and the Morrigan standing over both of us like a very dark guardian angel. “What the fuck?” he demanded ineloquently. 

She scowled. “You’re Love just saved your life.” There was a wordless  _ ingrate _ was implied at the end of that sentence, at least to my ears. 

Lance gaped at me for a long moment, then put one had to his chest, looking confused. 

“How are you?” I managed, though speaking took a surprising amount of effort.

“I feel...better. Whole again. You...Oh Gareth, you didn’t...”

“He did,” replied the Morrigan rather testily, “And you would do well to thank him for it.”

“But now-”

“No. You will both be fine. It will take time to adjust, and you would do well to stay in very close physical proximity to each other for while. In fact, you would probably do well to spend a good deal of time having sex. But in a few weeks there should be no noticeable...negative side effects.” Having to explain it in such plain terms clearly irked Her. Then She turned Her bottomless gaze on me. “You love him dearly, and he is very lucky to have you. Next time, however, there is no need to be quite so... _ forceful _ in your requests.” And with that She patted me awkwardly on the head, rather as one might a charming but muddy dog, stepped back into the shadow, and was gone. 

Lancelot and I sat in stunned silence for several very long moments, attempting to process what had just happened. I, for one, felt physically terrible. But my heart was light knowing that I wasn’t going to lose Lance. I glanced at him, and found myself giggling at the poleaxed expression on his face. He seemed surprised by my mirth, but offered me a lopsided smile in return before reaching out and pulling me close. I let him, for his touch relieved the strange feeling in my chest. 

We laid back down, once again with me sprawled on top of Lance’s body, but this time he was the one clinging to me while I simply relaxed, pain fading into the background. Before sleep claimed me, I murmured, “I love you. I can’t lose you.”

He sighed, ran a hand gently through my hair. “I know. I know.” What he wasn’t saying was  _ I understand _ and  _ I would have done the same _ . He didn’t need to, for he  _ had  _ done it for me. 

“Please don’t let me go,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself. 

Lancelot’s arms tightened around me. “Never.” 

A thought occurred to me and I giggled again. “Guess you can’t get rid of me now. You’re stuck with me.”

“I...” his hand came up to rest against the back of my neck, then suddenly he rolled us over so he was laying on top of me, our foreheads resting against each other. “I never, ever wanted that,” Lancelot said seriously, “I want you to be happy, and I was afraid you wouldn’t be happy with me. I...I don’t deserve you or everything you’ve sacrificed for me, but I love you and as long as you are happy to be stuck with  _ me  _ then I am quite content with how this worked out.”

He wasn’t, though. I could feel his emotions rippling along our bond, which I could already tell was much stronger. He was terribly sad, and very afraid - afraid that now that I was ‘stuck’ with him I would grow to hate him. It was like how he and felt when we were first bound together but worse - so much worse - because now we really were bound to each other. I reached up and cupped his face in my hands and tried to let my feelings on the matter reach him. I knew the moment that they did, for his eyes welled up with unshed tears and his lips parted slightly in hopeful disbelief. 

“I love you,” I whispered, and knew that he was feeling just how much I meant that, the way that being with him was so perfect that it almost hurt, the way I still worshiped him, unable to completely divorce my image of him now from the way I had felt the first time that the great Sir Lancelot had looked down at me, a scrawny little peasant-born page, and smiled and told me that I was talented with a sword. I let him feel how much I respected him, and admired his skill and loyalty, and how honored I was to one of the few he allowed close to him. 

“O-oh...” breathed Lancelot, tears spilling over as he lowered his head to the pillow beside mine, and rested his weight on my body. “All...all that? Really?” It sounded like he was having trouble speaking. 

I held him close. “Oh, much more than all that,” I told him. 

*  *  *  *

We fell asleep shortly thereafter, with no more words exchanged. I hoped Gareth was able to feel my love for him as strongly as I could feel his for me - if that tangle of emotion could be summed up with a single word like  _ love _ . I hoped he could sense now how proud I was of him, how much he amazed me every day - with his skill, his compassion, his (more than physical) strength. I hoped I conveyed how fortunate I felt to know him, let alone to be loved by him. But ultimately, sleep claimed us both before we could discuss it. 

It was gone noon before either of us woke, and then only because of a soft, tentative knocking at the door and the sound of voices beyond, Arthur and Guinevere whispering at each other. During the night Gareth and I had traded places again, and now he raised his head from my shoulder and blinked blearily down at me. I smiled back, then called out for Arthur and Guin’s benefit, “We’re awake.”

“Ah, good...” said Arthur awkwardly, “Sorry. We were...a bit worried...”

“It was a long week,” grumbled Gareth, sitting up and stretching. I watched the play of lean muscle under his pale skin and smiled. 

“Would you join us for lunch?”asked Guin through the door, and Gareth and I, after a moment of silent consultation, assented. 

“You look considerably better this morning,” Guinevere told me when Gareth and I emerged from my room a few minutes later. We were dressed comfortably, as neither of us had any intention of going far today. One night of sleep was hardly enough to make up for the past nearly-two-weeks of utter insanity. 

I returned the Queen’s gentle embrace and said, “I feel considerably better this morning. Though I have Gareth - and my grandmother - to thank for that.” I caught Arthur’s eye over Guin’s shoulder and smiled, then watched as tentative hope bloomed across his face. 

“You...She...helped?”

“Yes. I’ll be honest, I slept through most of it. But Gareth apparently convinced her to put in an appearance.” I was still a bit unsure of just what he had done, but I had decided I could discuss it with him later. 

“And she...fixed things?” asked Guin tentatively, drawing back enough to look up at me, but remaining firmly in the circle of my arms. 

I nodded and she threw herself back into my embrace. Arthur soon joined her, strong arms encircling both of us as he murmured in my ear, “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.” 

I bit my lip as tears pricked at my eyes. I was  _ not  _ going to cry. But the emotion in Arthur’s voice touched me and I carefully freed an arm to hug him as well. We loved each other, in our way, and he had nearly lost me. 

Once the King and Queen had collected themselves slightly, Guinevere went and hugged Gareth as well. “Thank you,” she said softly, “I don’t know what you did but thank you.” Arthur clasped Gareth’s shoulder in agreement with his wife’s words and said something about ‘owing him’ that I missed because my body suddenly reminded me that I had not had enough to eat in the past day and there was food laid out on the table beside us that  _ smelled bloody heavenly _ . 

Gareth blushed and shifted awkwardly at the praise, and we all sat down to eat. Arthur and Guinevere were both visibly curious about my grandmother’s intervention, but apparently willing to let it lie for the time being. Which was fine with me; the whole thing still made me feel vaguely uncomfortable because I adamantly did  _ not _ like to be reminded of the more-than-human blood that ran in my veins. 

“So,” I said around a mouthful of porridge once everyone had had a moment to fill their plates, “Not to bring down everyone’s good mood, but what are we going to do about Lynette and Lyonesse and all that mess?”

To my surprise, Arthur actually chuckled. “ _ You  _ are going to be doing nothing about it. You and Gareth both need a proper rest.” I opened my mouth to protest but he went on, “As to ‘all that mess’ as you so aptly termed it, I think the Queen’s kidnapping may actually be somewhat politically advantageous from the point of view that I should be able to subtly threaten Cedric with it. After all, he claims Lyonesse as Saxon land, and under his stewardship it has been taken over by a mad sorcerer, the royal family deposed, and my queen kidnapped. A carefully-worded letter should set things in motion.  _ But _ , none of that is your problem - either of you.” Now the looked at Gareth and I firmly, every inch the King in spite of the fact that he still wore little more than his nightshirt and an old pair of breeches. “I want you two to leave Camelot for a fortnight at least. You both clearly need rest. Gareth is still recovering from very physical injuries and you are both recovering from...everything  else. I would suggest, Lance, that you take advantage of that lovely little villa you have; regardless, I want you both out of my sight by this time tomorrow. If you stay I’ll be obliged to make use of the two of you, and I really would like an excuse not to do that.”

I nodded slowly, unable to find a flaw in that plan. I hadn’t been to my own lands in a long while anyway, so I had a fine excuse to take some time to visit them and rest up after the harrowing journey we had just had. Most of the rest of the Round Table, so inconveniently absent when the ‘green knight’ arrived, had been recalled upon Guinevere’s kidnapping and were now in Camelot or on their way back. There was no shortage of manpower...And the idea of having Gareth to myself for days on end was decidedly tempting. 

“Alright then,” I agreed, smiling when Gareth looked at me in surprise, presumably having expected me to protest being away from Arthur’s side yet again, “That sounds like a very good idea.” 

*  *  *  *

Lancelot and I spent the afternoon cleaning our gear and packing for our journey, ate a hearty dinner in our rooms (neither of us in the mood for Court), and went to bed embarrassingly early. As we lay there, curled up together (on the sinfully comfortable feather mattress that was one of Lance’s only concessions to his rank), he slid his hands under my shirt and we both gasped a little as my emotions hit him and his hit me at the same moment. 

“We probably ought to talk about his,” Lance said softly. 

I hummed in agreement and admitted, “I think I can feel it a bit even when we aren’t touching. It’s like a sort of...muttering in the back of my mind. An awareness of how you’re doing.”

Lancelot sighed heavily. “I don’t think I’ve felt that.”

“Yet,” I added.

“What?”

“Yet,” I repeated, then explained, “I’ve been thinking about this. I’ve had this...bond for lack of a better word. I’ve had it for a week now. You’ve only had it for a few hours. It makes sense to me that I would feel it more strongly. It will develop over time - or at least, that's the impression I got from my conversation with the Morrigan the night I was shot.” 

“Oh.” 

“How did you feel today when we were apart?”

“We weren’t really apart,” he laughed. It was true; we had barely been more than a room away from each other since we had returned to Camelot. But Lancelot seemed to understand what I was saying, and sobered. “Even when we weren’t touching, I didn’t feel bad. Mind you, touching you feels bloody fantastic; but it doesn’t feel... _ empty  _ to be apart now.”

“Good,” I sighed, immensely relieved by this confirmation that things were beginning to get back to normal - or whatever passed as normal for us. 

We were both quiet for a few long moments, then Lancelot asked, “What do you suppose She meant by...by it being a good idea for us to be in close physical contact for a while...?”

I chuckled at how he danced around Her more specific recommendation. “I suspect it has to do with letting the bond settle. I have a piece of your soul inside of me, and you have a piece of mine in you. I think it seems fairly natural for us to need time to adjust to that with our bodies in close proximity.”

“You seem to have a better intuition for this than I do,” Lance muttered, “Which is funny since as far as we know, you’re actually fully human.” I twitched a little at that. “What?”

“It’s...bloody strange to hear you phrase it that way.” And it was. Lancelot was a lot of things, but thinking of him as something other than fully human was still odd in the extreme. Not entirely a bad odd though. I said as much and Lancelot huffed, a disbelieving little laugh that I found disproportionately adorable. With affection for him curling warm in my chest (and his affection for me in the back of my mind, my thoughts returned to Her suggestion that we would  _ do well to spend a good deal of time having sex _ . “You know...” I said slowly, a smile creeping into my voice, “You have yet to experience how brilliant sex feels when you can feel the other person’s emotions...” I could  _ feel  _ Lance’s mood shift, swinging through surprise and mild embarrassment, before rapidly settling on something like anticipation. 

Lance rolled us over so that he lay on top of me, and we kissed, long and slow, exploring how it felt to do this when we were so intimately aware of the other’s emotions. My pleasure and his tangled together - my sense of being  _ small  _ and  _ cared for  _ and  _ safe  _ with his body resting on mine, and his  _ wonder  _ and  _ power  _ and  _ protectiveness _ at having me willing sprawled beneath him. I moaned a little, overwhelmed, and Lance pulled back enough to look at me, expression dazed and vaguely awestruck. We stayed like that for long moments, trying to adjust to this entirely knew and incredible level of intimacy. It was overwhelming - but utterly perfect. 

Finally, Lance shifted slightly, reaching for the oil sitting on our nightstand. He could sense what I wanted and was more than happy to oblige. I had pulled on a pair of soft sleeping pants and discarded them now, reaching for Lancelot and kissing him again before letting him go to spread my legs for him. That sent a little thrill of amazement and pleasure through him, and I grinned. Our desire was like a self-fulfilling loop, building faster than I had ever known it to. It made me impatient and forward and I threw Lance a reckless smile.“Well?” I asked teasingly, “Are you going to have your way with me or not?”

That earned me a little growl, and Lancelot coated his fingers quickly and pressed gently inside of me. I moaned and sighed and let my head fall back on the pillow. I couldn’t resist squirming and pushing back, silently asking for more. I wanted to be taken care of but I didn’t want it gentle and I couldn’t figure out how to ask for that. Happily, Lance proceeded just as I would have hoped, quickly adding another finger and opening me up quickly, all the while kissing gently at the inside of my thighs, stroking my side with his spare hand. My worries and stress fell away and I let myself float on pleasure, trusting Lance to take care of me and catch me if I fell. 

*  *  *  *

I had never entirely understood the abject pleasure Gareth took from me preparing him for sex. It wasn’t that I  _ minded _ being on the receiving end of the act, but Gareth could actually get off on that alone. Now, though, I was perhaps beginning to understand. I could feel the peace he felt, laid out underneath me, completely at my mercy. The physical sensation let him block out the rest of the world and relax into the purely emotional sensation of being taken care of by me. With his feelings rippling along our bond, I could certainly see the appeal. 

I could also feel his growing desperation, his need to drown in me, so I removed my fingers (he whimpered beautifully), and pressed inside him in a single, long thrust that drew a groan from deep in my chest and made Gareth arch up off the bed, hands clawing at the sheets. It felt perfect. More than perfect. Sex with Gareth had always been bloody brilliant, like we were two halves of a puzzle fitting together, but with the emotions surging back and forth between us, mingling in my mind and chest, it quite literally took my breath away.

I slumped forward, panting; it took me a few moments to gather myself enough to begin moving, and as soon as I did I knew that neither of us were going to last long. A few thrusts later and we came simultaneously, clutching at each other desperately, wracked with pleasure. 

It took a long, long time for me to collect my wits enough to disentangle our limbs and pull gently out of Gareth’s body. He moaned softly and reached for me. “Hush,” I whispered, pausing a moment to stroke his hair, “Hush, I’m just going to get a cloth to clean up.”

He mumbled something about not wanting me to go, and I could feel his contentment thrumming through me alongside my own, making it almost impossible to drag myself away. But I did, knowing we would both regret it later if I didn’t. Once I had wiped the evidence of our activities from both of our bodies, I tossed the cloth haphazardly aside and crawled back into bed, pulling a light blanket over us. Gareth clung to me, pulling me close, and I happily obliged, wrapping him in an embrace. He nuzzled at my neck, only half-awake, and I stroked his hair, feeling sleep begin to claim me as well. 

Just before I drifted off, Gareth murmured, “Holy fuck that was even better than I expected.”

I huffed a laugh, pleased and exhausted and something beyond sated. “Indeed.”

We descended into comfortable silence for a long moment, then Gareth said, “I love you, Lance. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” The words came more easily to me this time, and something loosened in my chest. “I love you too, Gareth. More than I can say.” 

He sighed happily and snuggled impossibly closer, and that was the last thing I knew before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

*  *  *  *

When we woke the next morning, comfortably tangled up in each other, early morning sunlight was filtering through the curtains. I smiled into his chest. “So, you really are content to leave Camelot for a couple of weeks?” I asked sleepily. 

“If it means two weeks at my villa with you, yes,” he replied. His hand on my lower back edged lower, giving me some idea of what he had in mind for us once we were there. Then he added practically, “Besides, it’s only two days’ easy ride from here, so if there really is a crisis it won’t be hard to get back.” 

“There fucking better not be,” I grumbled without thinking, very real heat in my voice. I was fed up with crises for the time being. 

Lancelot was silent for a moment, surprised perhaps, for I was quite the opposite of the sort to shirk duty, as he knew well. Then he laughed, a full, warm laugh - a rare thing for Lancelot. “Agreed,” he said, pressing a kiss to my hair, arms tightening around me slightly, “I think we’ve earned our rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: Thank you for reading and sticking with me through all the drama and angst that have comprised the first two parts of this story.
> 
> Second: I already have a third and fourth part planned - and the third part will be 90% pwp. No, really. Gareth and Lance deserve the chance to thoroughly enjoy themselves at Lancelot's villa. I've started drafting the first chapter, but, as I said before, I'm ridiculously busy with classwork this semester, so I will apologize in advance if the updates are slow in coming. 
> 
> Thanks again! Comments and kudos are love ; )

**Author's Note:**

> I'll do my best to get the next part up soon-ish, but it will essentially be a chapter of smut (Lance and Gareth deserve some fun before things get hard for them) and only a small amount of plot and that's making it harder to write because I have to be careful where/when I work on it...
> 
> Kudos and comments are love, especially since I'm very nervous about the next chapter as I don't usually share my more explicit writing...


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